Noble Jewel
by Isabeau of Greenlea
Summary: A stable boy and the Commander of the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth discover they have something in common...And guess what? It's a finished story! Yes, it's all right here...no waiting six months for an update...
1. The Carter's Stepson

September, 3019, Pelargir

By lantern-light in the pre-dawn darkness, the family of Jacyn the carter prepared to start their day. Nellith, her former beauty faded by seven children, five of them living, bustled about the small kitchen, bearing dishes to the table. The carter, a squat brown bull of a man, sat at the head, already wolfing his food down, for his was the place of precedence in this household. The children clamored loudly in their places for their breakfast, save for the oldest, who moved quietly to his mother's side and took the bowl of porridge from her. He began swiftly dishing it into the children's' bowls, giving the youngest child, just now walking and seated in a high chair, a separate small bowl that had been set aside earlier to cool.

"Thank you, Brand," his mother murmured gratefully, and he nodded, continuing to work without speaking, for it was never good to draw his step-father's attention to himself. And it would have been hard not to notice him in this house of brown-haired people--tall for his age, and pale-skinned, with a shock of raven hair that contrasted sharply with the grey eyes he'd gotten from his unknown father.

"Honey, Brand! And butter!" his half-brothers and sisters caroled, and he hastened to season their porridge appropriately.

"See that you don't give them more than a pat and a spoon apiece, boy," the carter rumbled. "Butter and honey come dear, and it doesn't take much to put the flavor in."

"Yes, sir," the boy replied, and made an obvious show of giving the children just the amount Jacyn had dictated. The children pouted a bit, but young as they were did not protest, for their father had a heavy hand and besides, they knew that if they were still at table when he left, their mother would slip them a little more of the sweet stuff. Brand then set the dishes back upon the side table, and sat down to his own bowl, his eyes cast down.

"Morlan asked me to work late at the stables today, sir," he ventured quietly after a few bites. "The inn will be full up--someone has booked the whole thing."

"He paying extra?" Jacyn growled.

"Yessir. And a little bit beyond that, he said, because there would be no tips. 'Tis the Swan Knights, a company of them coming through on the way to Dol Amroth." Nellith looked up at her son then and smiled, for she knew how much the boy liked to watch soldiers--it had been a cause of friction in the family more than once, when Brand had slipped off to watch Pelargir's guard maneuvering, or other defenders of Gondor as they moved through the city en route to their postings.

"Hmmmmmph. I imagine you'll enjoy that," the carter grumbled. There was an ominously satisfied gleam in his eye. "And you may as well, because it will be the last time for that sort of foolishness. I've 'prenticed you to Farluk, the tanner on the south side of the city. He paid me the fee last night, and we signed the papers. Signed, sealed and witnessed. Seven years, he'll have you for, and I wish him the joy of it. You're to start tomorrow."

Nellith gasped, and the boy's pale face grew paler still. He shot to his feet, for once heedless of peril.

"You did WHAT? I do not wish to be a _tanner_! I want to be a soldier!"

Swiftly for a man of his bulk, Jacyn gained his feet as well, reaching out a thickly muscled arm to seize Brand by the shoulder and yank him up and away from the bench upon which his younger siblings sat. Then a hand the size of a ham crashed into the side of his face, knocking him backwards onto his rump on the floor.

"Well, _I _don't want you to be a soldier! Why should I? I've already had the care and feeding of you for ten years now--it's four more until you can enlist, and Gondor will pay me nothing for the privilege of taking you off of my hands. This way, at least I'll get a little back for what I've put into you. Farluk was generous--gave me enough that with what I've saved already, I can buy that new team I've been needing."

"You've not got much in me that you've not gained back through my labor--you've had me out to work since I was younger than Gabby there!" the boy snarled, pointing at his oldest half-sister. The carter stomped over, reached down and seized him by the front of his shirt, hauling him up one-handed with ease. He then shook him till the boy's teeth were clashing together. Nellith's faint cry of protest could be heard in the background, but she did not intervene, nor would Brand have wished her to, lest she run afoul of Jacyn's anger herself.

"_And what if I have_?" Jacyn shouted, punctuating his sentences with shakes. "You think life is ever going to be easy for you, you little bastard? Best get used to the idea now! This is a good place for you, if you were half so smart as you think you are--Farluk is getting old, and his only legitimate son is a drunken sot! That worthless worm could very well drink himself to death and leave you to inherit the whole business, if you keep your nose clean! I've done you a favor here, only you're too full of stupid dreams about soldiering to see it! The war is _over_! No need for soldiers now, but there's always plenty of need for leather!" He ran down at last, and let go Brand's shirt, giving his staggering step-son a scornful glare.

"You just go on and moon after those Swan Knights today! D'you honestly think they'd ever have the like of you? Not them--they're all nobles' sons! There's never been a whoreson to fork a Dol Amroth warhorse, and you're not goin' to be the first! So get on out of here and get to work! I'll take you to Farluk's first thing tomorrow."

Brand looked at his barely started breakfast, and decided that hunger out of Jacyn's proximity would be better than a full stomach in it. He shot his mother an apologetic look, then left the kitchen, climbing the narrow stairway to the attic dormer room where he and his ever-increasing number of half-siblings slept. Little enough privacy and not very much space--though the sheer number of bodies did serve to keep them almost warm in the winter.

Beneath the mattress of his small bed was the one possession his mother said she had had from one of the men who might have been his father--a handkerchief of very fine linen. There was a White Tree embroidered upon it, much like the White Tree on the tabards of the Gondorian soldiers. And an initial of some sort, but Brand was just starting to learn his letters and this was fancier. Another, tinier letter in the same sort of writing but a different initial graced another corner--he thought it might be for the name of the person who had made the handkerchief. He had kept the piece of needlework carefully, not letting his half-brothers and sisters see it, and now he pulled it from its hiding place, stroked it gently for a moment and tucked it away gently into his small belt pouch. Jacyn's news had inspired in him a desire for desperate action, but he was a bright boy, and knew that care had to be taken.

An apprenticeship was a binding, legal contract, and were he to run away, he would be in violation of the law. His new master, were he apprehended and returned to the man, could legally have him flogged. Brand had seen public floggings, and had no desire to experience one himself. Leaving the city and seeking his fortunes elsewhere would be difficult enough--he also needed to find work that would allow him to pay off the tanner's contract. Until he did so, he would not be a free man.

The few coins he would receive for working the stables today would come in handy--he could not simply bolt off down the road with no money and no food, he knew that much. And he did have a window of opportunity--Jacyn would not expect him back until well after dark. The best thing to do would be to bide his time, work the day at the inn, and start out when it was time to go home. Get over the Sirith bridge and out of town entirely, and travel all night as far down the road as he could before daybreak. Hole up somewhere off the road, and keep traveling at night for a time, until he'd put enough distance between himself and any possible pursuit.

The thought of leaving his mother and brothers and sisters grieved him greatly, but he knew that as Farluk's apprentice, he'd not have been seeing them but on the rare holiday granted him by his master in any event. And he could not abide the thought of working at a tannery--he'd gone down the river with Jacyn on deliveries to that district upon more than one occasion. The reek, particularly in the summer, was indescribable. The carter claimed that he was just looking out for Brand's welfare in apprenticing him to such a place, and the situation may in fact have been what he said it was, but Brand suspected there was also an element of vengeance for past trouble the boy had caused him in the carter's choice.

With a sigh, he combed his fingers through his hair, tightened his belt, and started cautiously back downstairs. When he entered the kitchen, he found Jacyn had gone out back to harness the team, and his mother was still busily dealing with feeding his brothers and sisters. Nellith smiled when he first came in, then looked at his face and the smile vanished. Gesturing him over, she ran gentle fingers over his swelling cheek and frowned.

"Looks like you'll have a black eye out of that, Brand. Why do you prod him so?"

"Doesn't take much to prod him, Mother--as you well know." He gave her an imploring look, a rare thing for him, for he was a prideful boy. "Please, don't let him do this to me! I'll work two jobs if I have to! But I don't want to go to the tannery and work around vats of piss all day! You have no idea what the smell is like!"

Nellith's lips thinned, though her face was troubled. "Do you not remember what the docks smelled like after the battle earlier this year, Brand? How the bodies of the Corsairs stank? And all the flies? And the gulls doing raven duty, and plucking at their dead eyes? And the bodies they were still fishing out of the river a week later? Soldiering is not so clean a trade as you think it is--not all fancy parades on fine horses. Jacyn is right--you could end by inheriting that whole business, and it's a big one, the biggest on the river. Or at the very least, you'd be running it for Farluk's worthless son, and making yourself a bunch of coin. And I can tell you son, that enough coin will perfume even a tanner up right nicely, and you're a handsome lad. You could end by marrying a good girl, and be on the Guild Council, with no one ever knowing or even minding you were base-born!" She sighed and twined her fingers through his hair gently. "I've taken your part against Jacyn before, but this time I think he's right, and that he's done very well by you. So, go enjoy your soldiers today, and get yourself to Farluk tomorrow. I'll hold some dinner over for you tonight."

He nodded glumly. Nellith turned away to pick up a sack from the table and hand it to him, the top open.

"Your lunch. I gave you a bit extra, since you hadn't had your breakfast yet." He looked inside and found a couple of hard rolls, a largish piece of cheese, some dates (a rare luxury in their house), and a corked bottle of ale. About twice what he usually got, and he glanced up at her with a shy smile.

"Thank you, Mother." There was no way he could tell her what he intended, and there was always the chance that he would change his mind, too frightened to go through with it. So he simply hugged her more tightly and for longer than usual, and kissed her cheek. She embraced him in turn, and dropped a kiss onto his shaggy black head.

"Off with you now, Brand! And be a good lad, for a change!"

He went out the front door, so as to avoid Jacyn, and threw her a last smile over his shoulder.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

"All right, you lot, listen up and listen close," Morlan, chief hostler of the Vine and Sheaf Inn said, skewering his usually rowdy crew of stable lads with a menacing glare. He'd given Brand's battered face only a cursory stare and shake of the head--it was hardly the first time the lad had shown up for work in such a state. "In case some of you hadn't hear, the inn has been let completely this night to the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth. A company of them are expected by sundown." An excited murmur arose, and he waited a moment for it to subside. "Now some of you have done this before, and some of you are new lads, so I'll explain a bit about what will happen. We are one of the few establishments in Pelargir up to the Prince's high standards, and with enough stabling for a company of horses, and he pays very well so that his men may have a night of comfort while upon the road."

"Is that why Master Thurfyn's been clearing the rooms this morning?" one of the smarter lads, Serl, asked. His older sister worked inside as a chambermaid. Morlan nodded.

"That's right. And he'll let no rooms this day, and take no customers in the taproom after the lunch trade ends. The chambermaids are already bustling, and we must as well. Now, what we have to do is make sure that every stall is absolutely clean and well-bedded. So we'll start with those that are empty now, and as last night's customers leave, we'll clean theirs as they go. We also need to take the inn's horses down the road to the Grey Foal, clean the cow byre out, put the cows back in the far corner and bed it as well. It will serve for their wagon teams." Groans followed this pronouncement.

"A hunnerd horse? How are we goin' to take care of 'em all?" whined Dinas, another of the newer lads, who appeared at the age of eighteen to have already reached the pinnacle of his possible upward mobility. Morlan frowned.

"'Tis not so hard as you might think--our task is mostly the getting ready for, and the cleaning up after. The Swan Knights ride war stallions, and care for them themselves. Which is as it should be--they're many of them foul tempered. The stallions, not the Swan Knights!" he added swiftly when a couple of the boys started snickering. "Your jobs are to see that there's a full bucket and manger in every stall, and to show the knights the grain or anything else they need. You stay away from those horses, unless a knight asks you to hold one and says that it's all right. If they want their gear cleaned, then you do that, and see you do it right! But I doubt there will be much of that--they tend to their own harness as well." He looked about the circle. "No begging for tips--they're doing their own work for the most part." More groans at this. Morlan shook a chiding finger. "You'll be getting a little extra to make up for it. Now set to work on the empty stalls!"

Brand immediately paired up with Serl, who was one of the few boys who didn't care that he was baseborn, and they set to work. Serl was wiry and quick, but as small for his age as Brand was tall, and much time spent at the job had enabled the two boys to work out a division of labor that was swift and efficient. Serl did most of the actual raking and mucking, while Brand, who was the stronger of the two, did some mucking as well, but mostly carried the baskets Serl filled to the muck wagon, and scrubbed water buckets, and refilled them from the well. Both shared the task of forking fresh straw into the cleaned stalls. They were the fastest of the stable boys, and the most thorough, and by the noon hour had finished their allotted stalls, as well as several belonging to other stable boys. Morlan came by to inspect and was very pleased.

"You can bed these a little deeper than we normally do when you come back from lunch--Thurfyn's orders. The Knights are paying very well, and he wants to keep their custom. So put a few more forkfuls in each one. Other than that--well done, lads. Skip on into the kitchen and tell Rosbel I said you could have lunch on me." Brand and Serl looked at each other, and grinned. Hot food from the inn kitchen was a vast improvement on what they'd brought for their lunches, and Brand was particularly pleased--it meant that he could save all of what his mother had given him for his planned escape.

Of course, they couldn't exactly 'skip into' Rosbel's kitchen. There was no way the big-hipped, vociferous chief cook would let two muck-stained stable boys into her clean domain. But she did give each of them a chunk of hot, crusty bread, a bowl of stew and a cup of milk at the door, while at the same time threatening them with bodily harm should anything befall the dishes she'd lent them. So they settled themselves upon the covered back porch, off to the side so as to not get in the kitchen help's way, and fell upon their food with the voracious appetites of the healthy young. After the edge had been taken off their hunger, Brand told Serl of the carter's announcement that morning, in between bites. Serl was not pleased.

"I'll have to find a new partner if you are gone! Can't you persuade him to let you stay here? It's not as if you don't bring money home! And you're good with the horses--you could have Morlan's place one day."

"He's already taken the tanner's money. And spent it, if I know Jacyn. He's probably at the horse market right now, picking a new team," Brand replied glumly. "I am doomed, it seems, to spend my life lugging stinking hides from one vat to another."

"I'm sorry, Brand," Serl said earnestly. "I know that's not what you want to do. Though there's times I don't think you belong here either."

"Thanks ever so much! What do you mean by that?" The smaller boy quickly explained.

"Nothing bad! It's just that….sometimes you seem different from the rest of us." The stable boy's brow furrowed as he sought to find the words to express what he felt. "_Fancier_, somehow."

"'Fancier', is it? Well, my mother used to be a fancy woman, maybe that explains things!" Brand grinned, his good humor restored, but Serl remained serious.

"I mean it, Brand. Your mother was a fancy woman in a very fancy house. Your father could have been someone important, maybe even a lord!"

"Oh, there's no doubt my father could have been any one of ten or twelve men, all of them rich enough to afford mother when she was there," the taller boy said wryly. "And some of them may have even been lords. But what does it matter? They don't know I'm alive, and even if they did, and one of them knew I was his, he's hardly likely to come charging in here on a white stallion now to take me away from all of this."

"That's true, I suppose," Serl agreed, taking another bit of stew. "I'm sorry-- it must be uncommon hard for you at times."

"It got uncommon hard this morning, I can tell you that!" He looked over at his friend and smiled. "But having you to talk to does help, Serl. I'll miss you when I'm gone." _Whether it's to the tanner or out of the city,_ he added to himself silently. Serl nodded his understanding, and after a few more bites, offered Brand the rest of his stew, rubbing his stomach as he did so.

"Rosbel gave us each the same, and you're half again as big as I am. I'm full--you want the rest of this?

Brand looked at him for a moment, wondering if he were really full, or just being nice, but Serl insisted again, so he nodded, and made short work of the rest of Serl's bowl, mopping up the last of the stew juice with the last of his bread. He then collected their bowls and cups and went to the back door.

"Oh sweet lady Rosbel!" he called. "We come, bringing your dishes back, with nary a scratch or chip upon them!" The cook soon appeared, wiping flour off her arms with a towel. After a grim-faced inspection of the dishes, she smiled at the two boys.

"You were indeed careful as you could be! Run along--you'd best get back to work. Don't want to make Morlan sorry he fed you now, do you?" The boys agreed that they did not wish for that to happen, and trotted back off towards the stable once more. As they went, Serl threw a questioning glance at his friend.

"'Sweet lady Rosbel'?" he asked. Brand managed to shrug while trotting.

"Women like that sort of stuff."

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8


	2. The Bad'un

The afternoon passed much as the morning had. Brand and Serl were kept hard at work, as were the other stable boys. The very courtyard itself was swept and the cobbles washed in preparation for the arrival of the Swan Knights. Dinas and a couple of the older lads were set to the cow byre, from which much grumbling ensued. Serl's sister waved at him once from one of the upstairs windows while the boys were sweeping the courtyard, but she was immediately called away, which led the boys to understand that things were probably equally hectic indoors. Things were completed by the fourth hour after noon, which was just as well, for no sooner had Morlan done a tour of inspection, when a sound of many hooves was heard up the street, and men's voices raised in song.

"They're early!" the stableman exclaimed; then, looking about, smiled with satisfaction. "But so are we! Well done, lads!" Quickly, he set some of the lads in the courtyard, and others in the barn. Gesturing to Serl and Brand, he assigned them the part of the barn that had the few box stalls.

"You two--take care of the officers' horses." The boys looked at each other and grinned, for this was another sign of Morlan's appreciation of the work they'd done. They'd been told not to expect tips, but officers would be more likely than any to give them. The other boys knew this as well, and there was considerable petulance in some quarters.

"Shouldn't put the bastard up where the fine folk'll see him," Dinas complained to Morlan. That's the place for one of us older fellows." The head man snorted.

"I get more honest work from that 'bastard' than I do from any of you 'older fellows', and in any event, your place is where I say it is--which is helping with the wagon teams." Dinas gave Brand a threatening look, which the younger boy ignored. Dinas was as slow on his feet as in his head, and Brand had no doubt about his ability to keep clear of the young man. And he'd attempt nothing under Morlan's watchful eye in any event, so Brand hastened off to his assigned post with a light heart, peering back through the barn door with his friend as the Swan Knights began to pour into the courtyard.

Grey horses of every shade, from the snowy white of older war-horses to the charcoal of younger ones. Some with black manes, tails and points, others with silver. Dappled and frosted, speckled and smoky, each one different, but each one very fine. All in black harness trimmed with silver, their riders in shining mail and armor plate, the silver Swanship of Dol Amroth broidered in white or silver upon their tabards, depending upon their rank. How they managed to appear reasonably clean after a day on the road was beyond Brand, but he assumed it was some secret of the trade known only to Swan Knights.

"They're wonderful, aren't they?" breathed Serl, and Brand could only nod his agreement.

Two of the knights, who wore the fanciest tabards, immediately rode to the porch of the inn to speak to the innkeeper, while others, presumably subordinate officers, directed the wagons and the rest of the knights towards stabling. Despite the large number of people crowding the courtyard, things were being done in an orderly and organized fashion. Brand noticed one small group in the keeping of one of the officers who seemed younger than the rest and ill at ease, in plainer tabards, and it took him a moment to realize that these must be the most junior of the knights, perhaps brand new recruits. Most of them looked to be about eighteen, but a couple were older, and he felt a moment's burning jealousy. What he would not have given to change places with any of them….The old saw about wishes being horses came to mind, and he sighed, turning his attention back to his work.

"C'mon Serl--let's go give things a last look-over before they get in here."

Quickly, the two boys made their way down the row of box stalls, inspecting their work and giving the bedding a quick fluffing with their forks. No one came in their barn--apparently, the officers were seeing to the well-being of their men first. Serl was in the last of the box stalls, and Brand had started on the first of the tie stalls, when a spate of shouted orders and cries arose outside. The boys paid no attention to the noise, thinking it only part of the usual business of organizing such a large number of men and horses. Then a shadow darkened the doorway.

Brand looked up and froze. One of the war stallions had apparently broken free from its master's grasp, and stood there, stamping nervously, its ears laid flat against its head. Serl stuck his head up over the partition and gasped, and the horse's head immediately snaked in his direction. A squeal issued forth from the stallion, and he bounced, his shod feet clanging on the paved aisle of the stable.

__

A bad'un, the worst I've ever seen, Brand thought in dismay. Three years as a stable boy had exposed him to a great many cantankerous horses, but this one, he realized, was genuinely dangerous. His voice when he spoke to his friend, however, surprised even himself with its calmness.

"Serl, get down and stay down where he can't see you. I'm going to get his attention. When I do, you pull your door shut and keep down. He can't get at you in there." It was not the best of plans--the door was heavy and there was the chance that Serl might not be able to close it quickly enough, and would end up trapped inside with the stallion. But Brand thought it safer than the alternative of the small boy trying to escape past the vicious horse in the aisle.

"What's he doing in here?" Serl gasped.

"Must've got loose," Brand answered, keeping a watchful eye upon the stallion, who continued to stamp and snake his head in a very menacing manner. He could hear the sound of men running towards the stables. "Remember that saddle mare that left at noon? I thought she was in season. Bet she pissed in here and he's smelling it. She was up at the far end, so you just do as I say, and I bet he'll go up there in a minute. He does, and I'll shut him in. Get ready--here I go."

He tapped the pitchfork against the wall of the stall, and the stallion's attention turned to him. He made his voice as soft and soothing as possible. "Hist now, lad, what do you want to be getting into such a taking for? Looking for a lady friend?" The warhorse bounced once more, and scented the air, his upper lip curling up. He bugled, and there were answering bugles from outside. A noise of rustling emanated from the other stall, and Serl's arm poked up over the edge of the door. The stallion's head swiveled in that direction for a moment, but Brand rapped the pitchfork against the stall, hard, and cried out, commandingly.

"Hoi, now! Over here, you whoreson!" A white-rimmed eye rolled back to him. With a gasping cry, Serl took the opportunity to yank the door shut, and the warhorse lunged at it in frustration, hooves thudding against the wood with brutal force. The door held, but afraid that it might bounce back open, Brand ventured forward a couple of steps and gave the stallion a light poke with the pitchfork around the corner. In doing so, he got a glimpse of Serl's hand, curled under the lower edge of the door, holding it shut, while the other lad made himself as small as he could on the ground behind it. Brand also narrowly missed having his extended arm crushed by a set of long yellow teeth, as the horse snapped viciously at him, then skittered back a pace.

__

If I can just hold him a couple of more moments, the Swan Knights will get here and take him in hand, he thought desperately. The stallion not only moved in a snake-like way, he struck as quickly as any serpent, with hooves as well as teeth. A couple of tiny rivulets of blood were running down the horse's nearly white shoulder, where the prongs of the fork had pierced the skin, and Brand quailed inwardly at the sight of the damage. _Surely they will understand I didn't have a choice! _"Go on up the aisle, you bastard!" he muttered to the stallion. "Go sniff out the mare's scent and leave me alone!"

Other shadows appeared in the doorway--men, ducking to either side of the stallion, whose hind hoof lashed out, narrowly missing one of them. _I'm saved!_ Brand thought, vastly relieved. The stallion turned his head to snap at the man upon his right side, but just as the knight upon his left grabbed for the trailing reins, he slung his head back around, screamed and lunged at the stable boy, plunging into the narrow stall after him.

Brand staggered back, with no place to go, trying desperately to dodge teeth and hooves. Reflexively, he held the fork up--and the stallion ignored it and kept coming. He was slammed against the back wall of the stall, the breath driven out of him, teeth snapping by his ear. The end of the pitchfork handle grounded against the back wall for a moment before the handle splintered beneath the force of the warhorse's charge, and pain lanced into the boy's arm and side.

__

He's killed me! Brand thought; then the stallion was staggering back, the pitchfork with its broken handle stuck in his chest. _And I've killed him as well! _The knight on the horse's left had finally seized the reins and was hauling him back, cursing in a strange mixture of Westron, and what Brand thought might be Haradric, but he paused long enough to give the other knight an order.

"See to the boy, Liahan." The other knight stooped over Brand, who had slid down the wall to sit upon the straw. His commander was backing the staggering stallion out of the stall, and eventually got him moved out of the barn and back into the courtyard, talking to the horse softly in a deep voice that both cursed and coaxed. Liahan was a younger man than the commander, and his handsome face creased in concern as he saw the blood on Brand's shirt. He laid a light hand upon the stable boy's shoulder.

"Stay still, lad. Don't try to get up. You're a tall fellow, but there's not much meat on your bones yet. I'll carry you within, and we'll have our healer take a look at you."

Brand nodded shakily. The Swan Knight stooped and slid a careful arm beneath his shoulders upon his uninjured side and the other beneath his knees, and lifted him with only a soft grunt of effort. With the stallion gone out of the barn, Serl cracked the door of the other stall open, and peered out.

"Brand, are you all right? _Brand!_" he exclaimed when he saw his friend in the Swan Knight's arms. Liahan smiled at him.

"Were you in here as well, lad?" Serl nodded. "Were you injured?"

"No sir," came the reply, little louder than a whisper. "Brand there kept him off me so I could get the door closed."

"That was well done, don't you think?" the Swan Knight asked, his voice low and comforting. The stable-boy nodded again, looking at Brand with stricken eyes. "Are you a friend of his?" After the third nod, Liahan suggested, "Why don't you come with us then? I'm sure Brand--didn't you say that was his name?--would feel better if you were at his side." He started out of the barn, Serl at his heels, and after a swift look about the courtyard, quickened his stride.

"Don't look, lad," he murmured, so of course Brand did, peering over his shoulder to see the stallion, the broken pitchfork lying upon the ground before him, blood pouring down his chest. The knight who'd pulled the horse off Brand was one of the commanders, it seemed, a man whose ink black hair was streaked with white. He had a hand upon the wound, and was talking to the other commander, who was holding the stallion's head. When he finally shook his head, and drew his sword, Brand squeezed his eyes shut, but the boy could still hear the thunk of the blade severing flesh, a gurgling, whistling sound, and the thud of a large body onto the cobbles.

__

I've killed one of the Swan Knights' warhorses! came his despairing thought. His troubles with the tanner suddenly seemed pale in comparison. _What will they do with me? Throw me into prison to work off the price of the horse? I've heard warhorses are worth hundreds of gold pieces! The tanner already owned me for seven years--I shall never be free again my whole life! _ For one panicked moment, he thought about wrenching free from the Swan Knight's arms, and bolting out of the courtyard, running as far and as fast as he could. But something within him found that idea unpalatable. His innate pride, which so often got him into trouble with his stepfather, would not let him do other than to own up to his actions. So he sighed a tremulous sigh, and tried to relax in the knight's strong arms.

Liahan carried him swiftly into the inn. Thurfyn, the innkeeper, met him at the door, grey-faced and stammering, and a sound of running footsteps announced Morlan's arrival behind them.

"My lord," the innkeeper exclaimed, "I apologize for the loss of the horse! I did not see what happened, but the lads who were at fault are, of course, yours to punish as you will." Serl looked as if he would like to bolt himself when this statement was made, but he found the doorway blocked by Morlan, who seized his arm.

Liahan pushed past the innkeeper without pausing to explain, carrying the boy into what looked to be one of the inn's private parlors. Certainly, Brand had never seen the inside of this room before. What looked to be one of the tables from the common room had been set up inside, with a sheet laid upon it. A young man was sitting in a tall-backed upholstered chair, shirtless, while another rather saturnine young man wearing a white apron over a jerkin of Dol Amroth blue but no armor bent over him taking a cup from his hand.

"Give it a few minutes to work, Badhron, and then I'll set you to rights." The other Swan Knight, if such he was, closed his eyes and nodded very slightly. There was a massive bruise upon his upper chest.

"Cuilast?" Liahan called urgently, "I've got another for you!" Seeing the blood, the aproned young man hastened over.

"Set him up here on the table and let's have a look, Liahan. My, but it's turning out to be a busy day. Rahur again?" Liahan carried Brand to the table and set him upon it.

"Yes," the knight answered. "But he shan't be giving any more trouble--the Captain just put him down."

"About time," snorted the healer. "That horse was a menace."

"How's Badhron?" Liahan inquired.

"Broken collarbone. I just gave him a draught. Stay a while, won't you? I'm going to need help setting it in a few minutes. Innkeeper!" This was addressed to Thurfyn, who was hovering anxiously in the doorway. "I'll need a pot of hot water--see that it boils for a bit before you take it off the fire. And some more towels or cloths. They must be very clean."

"I'll see to it, my lord!" Thurfyn stammered and scampered away.

"Get me my scissors, will you, Liahan?" the healer asked, giving Brand an appraising look. The Swan Knight moved to a wooden case with many drawers that was set up on the table at the man's head, and brought the scissors back to the healer, who slit Brand's shirt up the middle and both sleeves and had it off of him in what seemed a split second. Brand made a protesting noise at the ruin of one of his few garments, though the blood had arguably ruined it already, and the healer, seeming to understand his concern, smiled.

"We'll find you another, lad, never you fear."

It seemed an unnecessarily kind thing to say to someone who was supposedly in trouble of the deepest, darkest sort, and the boy stared back at him, confused. Then he looked down at himself and gulped. Black spots started dancing on the edges of his vision. There was an awful lot of blood….

"Oh no you don't!" Cuilast exclaimed, seeing his face go pale and clammy. "Let's lay him back on the table, Liahan." The Swan Knight lifted Brand's legs onto the table and lowered him back.

"What happened to you, lad?" the healer asked. "You've got splinters in your arm here."

"'T'was the handle of the pitchfork sir," Brand replied in a voice that quavered slightly because of his sudden nausea. He closed his eyes, deeming that the wisest course of action since the room persisted in spinning about him. "It broke when the horse came at me--I didn't mean to stab him, sir, truly I didn't!"

"Oh, Brand lad, you've gotten yourself into a deal of trouble," Morlan said grimly. "How could you do such a thing? Surely sticking a pitchfork in the horse was not necessary!"

"Actually it was, hostler," said a new, deep voice, as another man entered the room. Brand knew that voice, it belonged to the commander who'd just killed the stallion. "I was there, and I saw what happened. The boy was not at fault, he was merely doing what he could to defend himself. And he did not so much stick the fork in the horse, as the horse threw himself upon it. My late warhorse was an animal of remarkably foul disposition--look what he did to poor Badhron here, and him a trained knight! 'Tis _I_ who owe the _boy_ an apology--I thought Badhron could hold Rahur, and I was mistaken."

"But what of this lad?" Morlan asked, giving Serl's shoulder a shake. Liahan replied before Brand could come to his friend's defense.

"He did naught wrong either, other than to wisely hide himself in a stall. Release him, good hostler, the lad's been frightened half to death." Morlan did so, giving Serl's shoulder an apologetic pat in the process. "You might want to take him to the kitchen and get him some supper," the young Swan Knight suggested. "I find a good meal helps heal a young boy's fright faster than almost anything."

"But what about Brand?" Serl asked plaintively. "You said he would feel better if I stayed with him!"

"The healer needs to see to him now, and I don't think you want to be here while he does that," came the knight's gentle response. "You may check back with us after you've had gotten some food in you." Morlan urged a reluctant Serl out of the room.

"He kept him off me, I'll have you know!" was the boy's last declaration, as he was taken down the hall.

"Did he now?" The commander asked no one in particular, settling onto the bench next to Liahan on the opposite side of the table from the healer. His next question was addressed to Cuilast.

"How bad is he?" Brand could feel the healer's hands moving over his body, checking his limbs and chest and belly.

"Give me a moment, and I'll tell you. I'm sorry lad, but I have to do this," he said by way of warning, and then pressed upon Brand's injured side, right over his wound. The boy gasped, and jerked, and Liahan's hands moved to his shoulders of a sudden, holding him still.

"Sorry, lad," Cuilast said again, and there was more pain, as he examined the wounds in his arm and side further. Brand could feel something being pulled from his arm, and a tear trickled from his still tightly shut eyes; he made a sound deep in his throat, but that was all the noise that escaped him. A sword-calloused hand patted his cheek gently.

"Stout lad," murmured Liahan. "_Well_, Cuilast?" came the captain's deep voice once more.

"Patience, captain!" the healer chided as he finished his examination. "The lad is not so badly hurt--he can wait until I finish with Badhron. He's got some splinters in his arm from the handle, and it's torn a strip of flesh loose on his side. There are some splinters there as well. But there are no broken bones, and some careful cleaning and stitching should set him to rights. I'll give him some poppy now, and he should be ready by the time I'm done setting Badhron's collarbone. Can you watch him for a bit, make sure he doesn't roll off the table?"

"As it was my horse that injured him, it would be churlish to refuse," the captain replied. "Besides, Peloren is attending to things outside. Though I thought Liahan had matters well enough in hand here."

"He does, but I need him to help me with Badhron. He's more than half a healer himself, you know."

"Yes, Liahan does a great many things well," came the dry response. "Very well then, I'll tend the boy." The captain took Brand's left hand, the one attached to the uninjured arm, and gave it a small squeeze.

"You still with us, lad?"

Brand opened his eyes hesitantly, afraid both of becoming sick again and of confronting the man whose horse he had caused to be slain. The captain's face was severely handsome, despite his age, with a hawkish nose and skin that was either very tanned or darker than the rest of his fellow knights, and his eyes looked absolutely black. But they were not angry or unkind, and the boy was heartened enough to whisper a response.

"Yes, sir. I am sorry about your horse. Did you hold him dear?"

"He had been with me for a long time, and got me alive through the battle on the Pelennor and many other conflicts," the captain said matter-of-factly. "But he was never a pleasant mount, and of such vile temperament that the Prince would never use him as a stud, for all his strength and speed. When I returned home, I was going to have him cut and retired--he was getting too old for war." He smiled, a small smile fraught with irony. "The stable-boys at Dol Amroth would bless your name should they learn what passed here this day."

Brand did not know quite how to answer that, and was spared the necessity of doing so, for the healer was offering him a cup.

"Here, Brand, drink all of this down. I've put the medicine in some cherry cordial, so it won't taste too bad."

"What is it, sir?"

"It will make you sleep, while I put some stitches in you. That way you won't feel a thing." Brand liked the idea about not feeling a thing very much, but a look out the window at the darkening courtyard raised other apprehensions in him.

"How long will I sleep sir?"

"Several hours, in all likelihood," the healer said. "Why? Is there a problem?"

The boy struggled to sit back up, wincing at the pain in his side. "I can't sleep for _hours_! I have to get home right after dark, or my stepfather will slam me a good one!" _Or I have to start running soon after dark, if I am to get away. _The captain grasped his chin gently, and turned his head to look at Brand's bruised cheek and eye.

"Did your stepfather do this to you?" When the boy nodded, the already black eyes somehow grew darker yet.

"Yes, sir. He told me this morning he'd 'prenticed me to a tanner, and I was to start working for the tanner on the morrow. Tomorrow I'm twelve. I told him I wanted to be a soldier instead."

"You're too young to be a soldier yet."

"I know that, sir. That's why he didn't want me to be one--said he didn't want to feed me for four more years. He was wanting a new team of horses, and the fee the tanner paid him would help him get them." Brand's head drooped and he closed his eyes again for a moment. "I have to work for the tanner for seven years. When I'm done with that, I'll be too old to start training as a soldier."

"Not necessarily," murmured Liahan. "Many of the Prince's foot are that age or but little younger when they come to us."

"Though why you would wish to enlist after spending seven years learning a profitable trade is beyond me," the healer interjected. Looking up at the friendly faces about him, Brand decided there was little harm in revealing his dearest wish.

"But I do not want to be a foot-soldier. I want to be a Swan Knight." The captain cocked an eyebrow, and the other two men smiled. Despite this encouragement, Brand's face fell again. "Though my stepfather told me that you do not take base-born lads."

"Your stepfather was in error," the healer declared, his voice positively chirpy. "I have not known bastardy, either as a condition of birth or description of temperament, to be an impediment to membership or advancement in the Swan Knights."

"Very funny, Cuilast!" the captain growled, and Liahan, his lips tightly pursed, made a muffled noise, then quickly rose to go look at his fellow knight in the chair. Cuilast handed the cup to the captain and followed him, peeling one of Badhron's eyelids up.

"Oh yes, he's well under, Liahan. You brace, and I'll pull." Brand, not certain of much at this point but that he didn't want to watch what they were doing, turned his attention back to the captain.

"What did he mean sir? All the big words."

"Your step-father was mistaken," came the somewhat abrupt answer. "A bastard can become a Swan Knight. Prince Adrahil had a base-born brother who earned his white belt. And I am a bastard myself." Brand's eyes widened as he absorbed this news, and the captain offered him the cup again. "Drink it, boy--you don't want to be awake for this if you don't have to. I will send word to your family of what has happened, and deal with your stepfather and the tanner as well, if necessary. You wouldn't be able to work for several days yet in any event--you'll have stitches along your side that may not be pulled upon. Had you not thought of that?"

Brand gave him a dismayed look, uncertain whether this was a boon or a difficulty where his plans for escape were concerned. "No sir, I hadn't!"

"Well, I have. And since my horse was the cause of your injury, I shall deal with the consequences. Drink the draught, boy, and then you'd better lie back--it will work swiftly on one so young as yourself."

Seeing little other recourse, Brand did as he was told. When he had finished, and set the cup aside, the captain suddenly took his chin once more, this time staring at his profile and at the unbruised side of his face for a long moment. Frowning thoughtfully, he then released the boy, patting his shoulder gently, and helping him to lie back down. It was not long before Brand began to feel a wave of weariness sweep over him. Yawning, he closed his eyes.

"It will be all right, lad," the captain assured him, in a voice deep as Jacyn's but more resonant and less growling. The last thing Brand felt before he slipped into darkness was the man's hand closing firmly around his once more.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8


	3. The Captain Makes a Decision

Captain Andrahar, formerly of Harad, Armsmaster and Commander of the Swan Knights, sworn brother to Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, watched the lad succumb to the poppy and sighed. A bad business this day's work had been, but it could have been far worse. One or both of the lads could have been killed. Seeing Rahur go for the lad, he had feared that they were too late. But luck, and the boy's own stout heart had saved him, thereby sparing Andrahar guilt that would have preyed upon him for the rest of his life.

Rahur, always vicious, had become increasingly difficult after the battle at the Black Gate, and the Swan Knight had begun to wonder if the horse did not have some physical problem that was making him act so. Cuilast had consulted some medical texts and told him that could in fact be the case, but that _he_ was certainly not going to examine him! So Andrahar had simply been as careful as he could with the stallion, making sure that no one who was not a competent horseman dealt with him, when he was not there to see to him himself.

Captain Peloren was the Horsemaster for the Swan Knights, and Badhron, one of his chosen assistants, was certainly qualified to deal with Rahur. Andrahar had had no qualms about leaving the horse to him while he spoke to the innkeeper. But the stallion had gone straight up for no good reason but moments later, and had struck Badhron in the chest with a hoof coming down, breaking the man's hold upon him. It was a mercy of sorts Rahur had decided to trot into the barn in search of his supper, rather than escape into the streets. Andrahar shuddered at the thought of the damage the stallion could have done to person and property running wild in Pelargir.

He looked down at the boy again, and seeing that profile, frowned once more. Pale skin, grey eyes, black hair--the Dunadan stamp was on him, to be sure. Good blood in back of him somewhere. But many men in Dol Amroth and western Gondor were of such coloring. There was no good reason for the nagging feeling of familiarity that kept nudging at him.

__

"Hoi now, you whoreson!" He remembered hearing the boy's cry as he ran towards the barn. Calm command in the voice, no fear at all. No doubt heartening to the lad that had been with him. The lad whom he had saved….

"He kept him off me, I'll have you know!"

A brave lad, and a fine one. Too fine, perhaps to be a tanner. Or perhaps not…the maw of war devoured fine lads innumerable. Surely a few should be saved back, to breed more fine lads?

__

"But I do not want to be a foot-soldier. I want to be a Swan Knight." Andrahar had to give the boy credit--he not only had dreams, he had big, bold dreams. The captain rather liked that. _His birthday is tomorrow, and all his choices have been taken from him. I certainly know how **that** feels!_ _Even a child of eleven or twelve does not like to feel powerless._

He looked over at the healer and Liahan, and found them strapping Badhron's arm. "How is he looking now, Cuilast?"

The healer frowned. "It was a clean break, though he's badly bruised. But it's the wagons for him tomorrow."

"Would a day's rest help?"

Cuilast shrugged. "It certainly wouldn't hurt! It really won't help that much--he's going to hurt when we start up again in any event, but I would like to have the day to keep an eye on him. And the little fellow as well, to make sure he's not taking wound fever from that filthy fork handle."

"Then you have it. Liahan, go get some fellows and the stretcher from the wagon, and get Badhron upstairs into a bed. And tell Peloren that I said that we're staying here tomorrow, and will move out the next day. We'll work out a drill schedule later."

"Yes, captain. I'll inform the innkeeper as well." But there was no need of that, for Thurfyn came into the room at that moment with kitchen maids bearing the pot of hot water, and the towels the healer had requested.

"Innkeeper, we'll be staying through tomorrow, to tend to our wounded man and make sure that the boy is well," Andrahar told him. Thurfyn looked both surprised and pleased. _As well he should, given what we're paying him,_ the captain thought dryly. When Thurfyn looked down at Brand, his attitude was almost avuncular, though he paled a bit at all the blood.

"And how is the lad?"

"Not so bad as he looks," Cuilast said, directing the maids in the disposition of his water and towels. "I'm going to stitch him up now, if you'd care to watch." The innkeeper started backing hastily for the door. "No, I've much to do, the dinner to set upon the boards, baths to be heated…"

"Of your courtesy, send a lad to the boy's house, to tell his family what has happened," Andrahar commanded. "They'll be expecting him home soon, and will worry,"

Thurfyn nodded. "Indeed, my lord, that is well thought of. I'll see to it immediately." And he fled.

The Captain looked at his healer after the man had gone. "Not nice, Cuilast." Cuilast's thin face lightened with a smile that was not entirely pleasant, as he laid his implements out upon the clean toweling with swift efficiency.

"He has no use for the boy, unless he profits from him. Nor does this stepfather of the lad's. I don't care much for that."

"Perhaps _you_ could use an apprentice?" Andrahar suggested wryly.

"I could, now that things have calmed down, but this lad is sword-mad. If anyone is going to 'prentice him, it should be you."

"Very funny." Cuilast was washing his hands in the hot water, and Andrahar knew that meant he was about to get down to business. "Do you need me for anything else?"

"No, captain, he'll stay put now that he's out. Just see that you save me some dinner."

"I'll do that. How long do you think you'll be?"

The healer looked at the wounds. "An hour at the most. I do want to make sure I get everything."

"Well, when you're done with him, have him put in my bed upstairs. I'll take the couch."

"The boy's slept harder, I'll warrant," the healer murmured.

"So have I. And I'm not injured."

Cuilast smiled, but did not otherwise comment upon the captain's possible guilty motivation. "As you wish, captain." Andrahar left him to his work, closing the door softly behind him.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

The commander sought out the hostler and found him out in the courtyard again, overseeing things once more, though almost all of the horses had been stabled and fed.

"How is the little lad?" Andrahar asked without preamble. Morlan gave him a hasty bow.

"Very well, sir. Your knight was right, the supper served to calm him down right quick. Does your man have lads of his own?"

"Not yet. Mayhap he'll have the chance to get some now." The hostler nodded, and both men reflected briefly upon the unlooked-for miracle of peace.

"The older lad, Brand," Andrahar said after a moment. "What can you tell me about him?"

Morlan sighed. "He's a good lad, my best worker, which was why I was so upset when I thought he'd hurt your horse."

"He says he's been 'prenticed to a tanner, and was supposed to start tomorrow."

Morlan scowled. "He hadn't told me about that yet. That's a bit surprising--he's usually very good about saying when he can't work because his stepfather needs him. If it's true, I'll be sorry to lose him, and that's the truth."

"He'd only just found out this morning himself, and was none too happy about it, from the sound of things." The hostler nodded thoughtfully.

"He likes it here, he does, likes messing with the horses. Though how he'll feel about them now, I don't know."

"The lad is a bold fellow--I think you might be surprised. Tell me about this stepfather, and his mother."

"He's a no-man's child--his mother was working in a high-class house when she got him, or so the story goes. Had wisely saved some of her earnings back, enough to keep her for a bit and dowry herself right well. The carter married her when the lad was two years old. They've got four children of their own now."

"This carter strikes him, and often, it would seem."

Another nod from the hostler. "Aye, that he does. Jacyn's a hard man. But he's hard with everyone, not just the lad. And he feeds and clothes him just the same as his own, which some would not. Has never pretended to love him, though--the lad near turned himself inside out when he was younger, trying to earn Jacyn's favor. The last couple of years, he's figured out that'll never happen."

Andrahar had lost his own father when he was Brand's age. But though he'd been the son of one of Isfhandijar's slaves, he had never been in doubt of his father's love, and that knowledge had enabled him to endure some fairly horrific experiences. He had never and would never sire children of his own, but he had shared the joy of raising Imrahil's children with him, and now had a surrogate grandchild to spoil. The hostler's simple statement hinted at years of sorrow and emotional deprivation for poor Brand; even if his mother loved him, a boy reached an age where he desired and needed a man's kinship and affection.

"The lad's a good one, captain," the hostler said, with a sidelong look at Andrahar. The Swan Knight shook himself out of reminiscence to listen. "Look at little Serl. My wife's sister's son he is, and was a sickly babe. Wouldn't have gotten a job here other than that they asked me to give him a try. And he's a game one, for all that he's small, and works hard. But the other boys would pick at him, you know how they are, because he was so little." Andrahar nodded.

"When Brand came to work, they picked on him as well, called him whoreson and worse things. But he just smiled, acting as if he paid no heed to what they said at all. When they started japing at Serl though, all bets were off, and it's a wonder heads weren't broken!"

"He fought with them?"

"Aye. Big, small, one or all, he'd go for them if they went for Serl, and they soon found out that even if they won, they were going to take some damage doing so. So they started leaving him alone, and he paired up with the boy, doing the chores that Serl was ill-suited to, and letting Serl do the things he was best at. The two of them together are better and faster at their work than any three of the other boys."

"Young Serl certainly seems to care for him."

"Aye, that he does. Serl's family scraped together enough money to get the boy a tutor last winter. He's quick-witted, and they are hoping if he can learn his letters, he can take up clerking as a trade. He'd be better suited to that than most things." Having seen Serl, the captain could certainly understand that logic. "In any event, Serl's been teaching Brand his letters when the two of them have the time. I look the other way so long as they get their work done." The hostler cast an eye over the courtyard, then turned to face Andrahar.

"Brand is no fool either, sir. The tanner is a lucky man--if he treats the boy half decently, he'll be well rewarded with loyalty and service."

Andrahar absorbed this information thoughtfully. "Yes, it would seem the tanner is a lucky man indeed. I thank you, good hostler, for your time, and the information. If this Jacyn should come to find Brand, please have him sent to me--I will explain what has happened to his stepson." Morlan definitely seemed all too happy to leave that duty to Andrahar. The captain wished him well, then went back into the inn to get his supper at last.

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The inn's common room was filled with supping Swan Knights. Andrahar joined Peloren and the other senior officers at the table set aside for them after a side trip to the kitchen to make sure that the healer's supper would be set aside and kept properly warm. Cuilast was, despite his sense of humor, one of the best healers Andrahar had ever known, and the captain had lived his life in Dol Amroth, which had a tradition of good healers. The man was dedicated, determined, compassionate and a very, very competent surgeon, and Andrahar was a person who could respect competency in fields other than his own profession.

Cuilast had also driven himself beyond his own body's capability in the aftermath of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. In doing so, he had saved several Swan Knights whom the captain would have thought were doomed to perish. One of them was even going to be able to return to active duty within the next couple of months. But the healer had ended by having to be healed himself, and since then, the senior officers had all made a point of seeing that he was well cared for, so that he might be able to care for them in turn should the need arise.

"Everything all right, Captain Peloren?" Andrahar asked as he seated himself. Peloren nodded.

"Rahur has been carried away, the men are all being fed, rooms have been assigned. Do you want to work them tomorrow, or let them rest?" Spearing a chicken leg on the point of his dagger, Andrahar considered for a moment.

"Tell them sword work is optional tomorrow. Then we'll see who among the recruits volunteers."

Peloren chuckled. "My guess is that none of them will. Not everyone is so dedicated as you, Andra."

"If none of them will, then our standards are dropping, Pel."

"I don't think it's standards, I think they're all too saddle-sore."

"They'd best get used to it. The time will come when they have to fight, saddle-sore or not."

"Indeed. How's that stable-boy?"

"Cuilast is stitching him up now. Ought to be just about finished, in fact. He wasn't hurt so very badly, just a gash in his side, and a wound in his arm from the handle of the fork. I'm putting him in my room for the night, and I'll see about getting him back to his family tomorrow."

"You want me to oversee things here, then?"

"If you would be so kind. I am sorry to impose upon you, Pel."

"'Tis no imposition. This looks to be the closest thing to a day off that anyone's been able to make you take. We're neither of us as young as we once were, and you've been driving yourself without a break since the War." The Horsemaster bent his head close to Andrahar's and lowered his voice. "I know you grieve for him still, Andra, but you need to take care of yourself as well, or you'll end up like Cuilast, or worse." As Peloren had expected, the Armsmaster glared at him, and bridled a bit.

"You worry overmuch," he said stiffly. "And besides, we have all these new recruits to look after. I will be all right."

"If you say so," Peloren sighed. "I wish the Prince were here--he is the only one who can do anything with you when you get like this."

"The King requires the Prince's presence in Minas Tirith for the immediate future. So you will just have to deal with me all by yourself for the next few months."

"Valar save me!" the Horsemaster exclaimed, tossing back a healthy draught of ale. Rather to his surprise, Andrahar actually unbent enough to chuckle.

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The carter arrived just as dinner was done, and could be heard expostulating with Thurfyn out in the hall, before he stormed into the common room exclaiming, "Where's the boy? I don't care what he's told you, he's to go to the tanner in the morning! And what's this claptrap about the Swan Knights…." He stopped in his tracks as a room full of warriors in blue and silver all turned their heads to regard him curiously, and some of his bellicose manner dissipated.

Andrahar immediately rose to go to him, and Peloren did as well, ignoring the Armsmaster's pointed stare that seemed to suggest his fellow captain would do better to stay behind.

"Jacyn Carter, is it?" he asked smoothly, upon arriving at the carter's side. "I am Captain Andrahar, Armsmaster and Commander of the Swan Knights. And this is my second-in-command, Captain Peloren."

The carter was of a height with Andrahar, who was only of middling height when surrounded by Swan Knights of Numenorean descent. But Jacyn's shoulders were half again as broad, as might be expected in a man who spent his days loading and unloading freight, and his attitude was decidedly truculent.

"My lords," he acknowledged, bobbing a stiff, uneasy bow. "What is this business I hear about Brand being hurt? I shouldn't believe it were I you--the boy can be sly when he wishes, and is no doubt feigning injury. I'll take him off your hands now."

"The boy is not _feigning_ anything, Master Carter," Andrahar responded, his voice still easy, though he could tell that Peloren had noticed the tone in it that boded danger. "He was attacked by my warhorse this evening, and in fending the animal off, was injured. Not severely so, but enough that he required the attention of our healer, whose care he is still in at present. Let us remove to a more private place, and I will give you the details of the matter." He took the carter to the same parlor where Cuilast had been doing his needlework, and found that the boy had been moved, though the bloodstained sheet and the surgeon's implements still remained. The carter looked upon those medicinal relics and his face paled.

"How bad hurt is he exactly? He needs to be at work tomorrow, for his new master."

There was a sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, and then Cuilast's voice responded from the doorway.

"The lad will not be fit to work for the next ten days--it will take that long for his injury to heal and before it is safe to pull the sutures." Jacyn gaped.

"_Ten days?_ The tanner must have his service tomorrow, or I must forfeit the apprentice fee! Surely you coddle him when you say ten days!"

"I am not in the habit of _coddling _anyone!" the healer answered, his voice frosty with disapproval. "I will prepare instructions for his care for your physician here."

"My physician? I have no physician! I am but a humble carter!" Brand's step-father blustered. "I have already purchased a new team with the 'prentice fee, and cannot afford to refund the tanner his money! The boy's mother can take the stitches out when the time comes--there is no need for fancy leechcraft!" He gave Andrahar an ill-tempered glare. "You say your warhorse injured him, captain? Then I want to know what you are going to do about this!"

Peloren was watching his colleague with a concerned look upon his face, but Andrahar, his thumbs hooked into his sword belt, seemed calm enough.

"You are correct when you say that I have caused you injury, carter, and I am prepared to recompense you for your trouble. How much was the apprentice fee the tanner paid you?"

"Seventy silver pennies, my lord." Mollified by the prospect of payment, Jacyn's tone was much more respectful of a sudden. And in that moment, the commander of the Swan Knights made a decision.

__

He has never yet asked to see the boy, nor has he expressed concern for him as other than the means to enrich himself. Andrahar opened his purse, and drew forth a handful of coin. "Here, carter."

Jacyn extended his hand, and the Swan Knight counted seven gold pieces into it, the equivalent of the seventy silver pennies.

"There is the tanner's fee in full. Pay the man off." He counted out another seven. "Here is _my_ apprentice fee for the boy. I am taking him off of your hands." Beside him, he could hear Peloren suck in his breath in surprise as he counted out yet another seven. "This is for your trouble. And tomorrow there will be three more for you as well, if you will bring your wife to speak with me in the afternoon. Does this satisfy you?"

The carter, stunned, stared down at the double handful of gold coins. "Why _yes_, my lord!" he managed to stammer at last. Peloren's eyebrows were crawling up his forehead, and Cuilast was openly grinning.

"Then if we have no further business, you are dismissed," Andrahar declared briskly. "Remember, Master Carter, tomorrow afternoon! But at your convenience--I will be here all day." Jacyn nodded, and after awkwardly stuffing the coins into his purse, wandered out of the parlor, apparently in a state of shock over his good fortune.

"Andra, _what_ do you think you are doing?" Peloren muttered when the man had gone. "The boy is too young to enlist."

"I know that! I will see that he is schooled until he is old enough and can decide if he still wants to be a Swan Knight or any other type of soldier, or if he wants to go into trade instead." He turned to the Horsemaster, and smiled bleakly. "What else have I got to spend my money on, Pel?" Peloren dropped his eyes, and protested no further, for he knew well that Andrahar had drawn a captain's wages for decades, spent almost none of it, and invested wisely. He could have bought a sizeable estate for himself had he wished, not to mention the fact that Imrahil would have gladly given him one. The commander owned his own house, or could put the boy up in the palace with the Prince's blessing. He could certainly, reflected Peloren, keep the boy in a far better style than that to which Brand was accustomed.

"Well, I think it is a marvelous idea!" chortled the healer. "It will be good for you both, mark my words!"

Andrahar ignored both his levity, and the inference that Andrahar needed help of some kind. "Did you get the lad settled, Cuilast?"

"I did indeed. Wounds cleaned and stitched, the stable sponged off of him, and him dressed in a nightshirt the Cook had from one of her lads who'd outgrown it. He's in your bed, as you said you wanted him, and still sleeping soundly. Where's my dinner?"

"In the kitchen. I made sure they saved you a couple of pieces of the apple pie. You still need some feeding up."

"Excellent, Captain! Much obliged, I'm sure." He sauntered off, whistling. Andrahar bade Peloren a good night, and went to his room, the finest chamber in the inn, fine enough even for Imrahil, should the Prince pass through. Oil lamps burned on the mantle and the bedside table, and by their light he could see the boy, looking very small in the middle of the huge bed, a white bandage about his right arm right above the elbow, where it rested atop the coverlet. Leaning over the bed, he felt Brand's forehead and finding it slightly warm, hoped that Cuilast had not missed anything. It would be a terrible thing for the boy to lose an arm from the comparatively minor wound, but such things did happen.

Once again, peering down at Brand, he was taken with that nagging feeling of familiarity, and suppressing his irritation, brushed the rumpled dark hair away from the boy's forehead with a gentle hand. The lad stirred slightly but did nothing else, being still deeply under the influence of the sleeping draught.

"Happy birthday, Brand," the Swan Knight whispered, then went to prepare for bed.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

In the small hours of the morning, Andrahar, curled up upon the couch, was awakened by the all-too-familiar sound of a child having a nightmare. He threw off his blanket and moved towards the bed, where Brand lay tossing and turning, and muttering under his breath. Just as he got there, the boy cried out and sat up, trembling and grimacing in pain. The Swan Knight turned up the bedside lamp, which he'd left lit in case the lad should wake up in a strange bed and become frightened.

"Brand, it is all right, you are safe." The boy looked at him with wide, confused eyes, his pupils almost totally dilated.

"Where am I? Where is my mother?"

"You are in the Vine and Sheaf, lad, do you not remember? The healer had to do some needlework on you." Brand looked about for a long moment, absorbing his surroundings. His hand made an aborted move towards his side, then he shivered, and seeming more awake, turned his attention back to Andrahar.

"Captain? Is this your room?"

"Yes. I thought it only just, since it was my horse that injured you. Do you need anything? A drink, or perhaps the chamber pot?" Brand admitted that both of those things would be very nice, so Andrahar helped him slide carefully off the bed and showed him where the chair behind the screen in the corner was, then made him wash his hands afterward. He was helped equally carefully back into the bed, then the captain poured him a cup of water from a pitcher which stood handy upon the bedside table. Clasping it in both hands, he drank greedily.

"Bad dream, lad?" Brand nodded.

"About the horse?"

"No sir." A quiet, hesitant murmur.

"Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes that helps to chase nightmares away." The boy bowed his head over his cup.

"You would think I was foolish, sir. It is a foolish thing to keep dreaming about--I have never even been to the sea."

"The sea?" A prickle ran down Andrahar's neck and back

"Yes, sir. There are all these people running, and no matter how fast they run they can't get away. And they're screaming."

"What are they running from?" Andrahar asked softly, his throat tight.

"This big black wave. It's so big it blots out the sky…." Brand trailed off when he saw the expression on the commander's face, and his own face began to look a little frightened.. "I'm sorry, sir," he quavered, "did I say something wrong?"

Andrahar shook himself and hastened to reassure the boy. "No, lad, nothing wrong at all! It sounds a fearsome dream. You say you've had it before?"

A tiny nod. "Since I was little. My stepfather gets angry, because sometimes I wake people up. You're not angry, are you, sir?"

"Oh no, lad, not angry in the least," the commander breathed, his mind racing. _It could **not** be Imri, I **know** that he's been with no woman in seventeen years. Erchirion possibly, or Elphir? They were both young, but it's remotely possible, particularly for Elph…_

"Brand," he asked gently after a moment. "Do you know anything at all about your father? What has your mother told you?"

The boy cast his eyes down. This was a subject he was obviously not happy about, and small wonder about that. "Mother says that she has no real way of knowing who my father was, that there were at least five men who could have sired me, judging from when I was born." He looked back up at the captain. "She gave me a token she'd kept from one of them, just so I'd have something. I keep it secret from my stepfather."

"Is it at home?" _I will have to question the carter's wife quite extensively this afternoon, it seems._

"No sir, it's in my belt pouch," the boy answered, eager to please, in the hopes that that would dispel Andrahar's strange mood. The Swan Knight rose, and went to the chair where Cuilast had placed the boy's belongings. He held up the belt and pouch.

"May I, Brand? I shan't trouble anything else." The boy nodded, but in truth, there was naught in the belt pouch but a couple of smooth stones and a folded handkerchief. Andrahar held the handkerchief up. "Is this it?"

"Yes, sir."

Setting the pouch aside, he carried the piece of cloth over to the bedside table, and unfolded it, to examine it in the light. And then he got his second shock of the evening, for there was the White Tree of Gondor, and the initial B, and the smaller initial N. The smaller initial was for the maker, Nimrien of Dol Amroth, and as for the larger….

Andrahar remembered the handkerchief, remembered the year the late princess had made matching sets for both of her nephews as a _mettarë _ gift, and realization shot through him like a bolt of lightning, weakening his knees, so that he was forced to pull a nearby chair close and sink into it. At last he understood the nagging sense of familiarity that had plagued him since he'd first seen the boy…

He could dimly hear Brand exclaiming in fearful concern, but the blood was pounding in his ears too loudly for him to discern the words. Over and over, the same refrain kept running through his mind.

__

This boy is **Boromir's** son!


	4. Clothes Make the Lad

Sunlight lay across the huge bed in great golden squares when Brand awoke. He was confused for a moment, for he had never slept so late before in his life, save for when he'd been ill as a small child. And the feather tick was the softest bed he could have ever imagined--like sleeping on a cloud it was. Need for the chamber pot drove him eventually from his soft nest, so he rose slowly, with care for his injured side and arm, which were both very sore this morning, and used the chair behind the screen in the corner once more. Though the captain was not there to ask him to, he washed his hands again. High-born folk, it appeared, were finicky about such things, and since the Swan Knight had lent him his room, it seemed the thing to do.

He looked at the chair where his clothes had lain the night before but found them gone, even his shoes. Only the belt and pouch remained, but when he went to examine them, he found that his handkerchief had been placed back in the pouch. The captain had recognized the handkerchief the night before, or something about it, Brand could tell that much from the look on his face. And the wave dream too, seemed to mean something to him other than a boy's recurrent nightmare.

__

I wonder if he knows one of the men who could be my father, and that was why he was so upset? And I wonder if he would tell me if I asked him?

The absence of his clothes was troubling, but he supposed it was possible that they might be washing them. The breeches at least--the shirt was ruined. But the healer had promised him another, and they'd obviously been able to acquire a nightshirt for him from somewhere. Unable to leave the chamber, he crossed to the window and opened it. The sound of clacking wooden swords and the clang of steel immediately reached his ears, explaining why the window had been closed despite the growing warmth of the day.

Peering out, he could see several pairs of Swan Knights sparring in the courtyard below. Off to one side, a couple of the recruits were receiving what looked to be more basic instruction, while the other Swan Knights went at it with the wooden swords--save for the commander, who was fighting with the younger knight Liahan with real weapons. Each man had two long blades and they were whirling and parrying and striking at great speed. Brand had never seen such a thing, and was most impressed. He decided then and there that his curiosity about his father would have to go unsatisfied--there was no way he was going to ask or say anything that might offend such a warrior!

The door opened behind him, and he turned to see the healer entering the room with a breakfast tray.

"Ah, there's my young patient! Hungry, lad?" Cuilast set the tray upon the desk that stood against one wall, and gestured towards the chair in front of it.

"Aye, sir. You needn't have gone to the trouble. I would have come downstairs, but I couldn't find my clothes." Brand came over, drawn by the appetizing smells, and saw that there were sausages and eggs and toast along with the porridge. Such a breakfast he had never seen at home, and he glanced up at the healer, wide-eyed.

"Yes, it's yours. Eat up! And if you want more, just say so. Your clothes went with Sergeant Berehan to the market this morning--the captain sent him forth to buy some things for you. It wouldn't do for you to be dressed in rags and castoffs when you arrive in Dol Amroth."

Brand nearly choked upon the piece of sausage he'd just bitten off.

"_Dol Amroth_! I was to go to the tanner today!"

"Not since last night. Your stepfather arrived right after I'd put you to bed, and after very little conversation with him, Captain Andrahar decided that you would be better off with us. So he gave your stepfather money to pay off the tanner, the same again as fee for apprenticing you to us, and still more for his trouble. The carter left without another word, though he's to bring your mother to see the Captain this afternoon." Cuilast winked, and laid a hand upon his forehead. "Happy birthday, Brand."

The boy stared up at the healer, stunned. "I'm an apprentice Swan Knight?"

Cuilast shook his head. "There is no such thing. What you are at present is the Captain's ward. His intent, I think, is to see that you are schooled until the age of sixteen, which is the youngest age you can become an esquire. Then you will have your opportunity to try for your white belt, like everyone else. Providing you still wish to do so. He says that you may take up any career you like." He lifted his hand. "Cool enough. That is good. Eat your breakfast lad, it's getting cold."

Brand picked up the fork that had been provided, a little awkwardly in his left hand, then paused. "Why….why did the Captain do that?"

The healer shrugged. "Who knows why Andrahar does some of the things he does? He must have liked your spirit."

__

It could not have been because of my father, Brand realized suddenly, for the confrontation with Jacyn had happened earlier in the evening, before the dream and the handkerchief. _He did it just because of me._ He decided that he would have to think about that for a while.

"The Captain is a hard man, but a fair one, Brand," Cuilast was continuing. "He won't hurt you or hit you as Jacyn did, but he may not always seem the friendliest sort of fellow." The healer smiled wryly. "He's actually very nice on the inside, though he tries hard to hide it. And he's been very sad for months, which has made some of us worried."

"Why has he been sad?"

"He lost one of his closest friends in the war, the Prince's nephew Boromir, and a great many of the Swan Knights as well. Captain Andrahar trained most of those men himself, and though there is no way you can have a battle without casualties, and even the greatest fighter can be brought down by bad battle-luck, he still feels as if he failed those men somehow, by not teaching them well enough."

"How could that be his fault?"

"It wasn't, really. And even he realizes that. But he's still sad, if that makes any sense." Brand thought about that for a moment, and nodded. "That is why I was so glad to see him take you under his wing, as it were. I think you might be just the thing to cheer him up."

"How would I be doing that?" Doubt flared in the boy's breast. He had no ability to entertain that he knew of. Cuilast chuckled.

"You don't have to play the fool, nothing like that, boy. Just apply yourself to your lessons, and try to do your best. I think that would do more to make him feel better than anything else." Relieved, Brand nodded. The healer gestured to his plate meaningfully.

"Eat! I shall be back in a bit, to change your dressings and check the wounds. And we'll see about getting you a proper bath and haircut." He started for the door, then paused and looked back over his shoulder.

"Oh, and Brand? I would appreciate it very much if you didn't repeat to the Captain anything I just told you." With another wink, Cuilast departed.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Brand set to his breakfast, trying to eat neatly with his off hand, and ending by switching back and forth between them, going to the left when the right became too painful. While he was doing so and contemplating the strange turn his fortunes had made the night before, maids entered, drew a bathing tub out of a cabinet in the wall, and began coming in and out to fill it with ewers of hot water. Then the room became even more populated. A man with graying hair in the uniform of Dol Amroth, but without the white belt that indicated a Swan Knight, entered. His arms were full of clothes and a pair of boots hung from one by their laces.

He laid his burden down upon the bed, and turned to Brand with a smiling face. "Here you go, lad--feeling a bit pent up in here, were you? Sorry to take so long, but the Captain was very particular, and it took a bit of time to find enough things already made to measure. Some of it may be a bit large--I took your things with me for reference, but I know how boys grow, and thought it best to leave a little room. And the boots are only soft ones, unfortunately. The Captain won't let you ride with stirrups with soft boots, but hard ones need to be made to measure. Or we might be able to find you something that will fit out of the young princes' outgrown pairs when we get to Dol Amroth. You're going to be a tall lad from the look of things." Brand stared at the clothes, wide-eyed, and the sergeant's expression became concerned. "Is everything all right, lad? To your taste?"

The boy got up and came over to the bed. He had ever at the most had three sets of clothing in his life-one on, one off, and one in the wash. There were enough breeches, shirts, smalls, stockings and tunics piled upon the bed that he could wear a different one every day of the week, and a fine new cloak. There was even a nice new black belt to match the boots. Some of the shirts were plain, but three of them had fancy embroidery upon them, better than his own mother could do. He rubbed one between his fingers, savoring the feel of crisp new cloth that had never known a body but his. Most of his shirts and breeches had been cut down from Jacyn's cast-offs. The carter was a large enough man that with the worn parts removed, there was enough material in one of his garments to make clothing for both Brand and his smallest brother, with careful piecing.

"These are very nice sir--I like them very much!" he hastened to assure the man when he realized the soldier was still awaiting his response. Sergeant Berehan nodded. "Very good then. I think the Captain may want to do a bit more shopping with you, young master, but this should hold you till you get to Dol Amroth." With a cordial nod, he departed. Brand tried to think of something else he could possibly need in the line of clothing, but his imagination failed him. He divided the time before Cuilast's return between finishing his breakfast and examining his new wardrobe. He had just picked out the shirt and breeches he wished to wear that day when the healer arrived, his kit and towels in hand.

"A little hot still, so we'll cut your hair first," Cuilast declared after testing the bath, sitting Brand in a chair next to the window and draping the boy's shoulders with a towel. In next to no time, it seemed, he had Brand's unruly black hair combed out neatly and trimmed, the cut hairs caught up in the towel and whisked away.

"I thought you were a healer," Brand told him. Cuilast smiled.

"You've heard of barber-surgeons? Well, I'm a surgeon-barber. Helped bring in the odd coin when I was a starving student. Now, off with that nightshirt." He snorted when the boy hesitated, blushing a bit. "Come lad, off with it! Believe you me, you've nothing out of the ordinary down there, and in any event, I saw it all last night." Brand turned beet red, but obeyed, whereupon the healer carefully removed the bandages on his side and arm and urged him into the bathtub. There, Brand got another new experience, as he had a bath he did not have to share with any of his brothers and sisters, one with a delightful, spicy-scented soap.

Cuilast made him keep his arm on the outside of the tub, bathing it carefully there, and was also careful to wash around his sutured wound. His hair was washed thoroughly as well. When all was finished, the healer helped him to towel off, and allowed him to don his new clothes, save for the shirt. Then he cleansed the wounds with an herbal-smelling preparation, bandaged them again, and helped Brand put his chosen shirt, one of the embroidered ones, on. A second combing of his damp hair and a sling of clean white cloth completed the boy's grooming.

"This is just for the next couple of days, lad," Cuilast explained, indicating the sling. "I don't think you truly need it, but it might help you keep that arm still, and not strain the side." Brand nodded. "Come, have a look at yourself." The healer led him to the wall, where a sizeable mirror of polished metal hung. Brand got the first really good look at himself in something other than the reflection in a water trough, and his jaw dropped in shock.

The stable boy was gone. A young lordling stood there in fine new clothes, the sort of lad who might have thrown Brand a copper for holding his blooded saddle mare. Cuilast, seeing his reaction, laughed.

"Yes, you clean up passably well, don't you? The Captain's down in the courtyard. Why don't you go show him?" He gave Brand's shoulder a friendly pat, then went to put away his surgical kit. Brand went forth into the day, though not without one last look at the mirror.

Liesyn, Serl's sister, was coming out of a room with her feather duster when she spied him, and her eyes widened.

"Brand! Is that you? You look very….nice."

"Hullo, Liesyn. Is Serl here today?"

The chambermaid shook her head. "Mum said she didn't care about the coin, he wasn't coming back until the warhorses are gone. So I'm doing the best I can in the hopes the knights will tip me a bit and help make up for it." She looked him up and down once more, and Brand began to feel very odd. Liesyn was a year older than he, and had never given him much thought as anything other than her pesky small brother's friend. Now she was patting her brown curls in the oddest way, and giving him a strange look out of the corner of her eye. Whatever ailed the girl?

"Is your arm all right? Were you very badly hurt? Serl says that you saved his life, that you were very brave…" the words tumbled out in a breathless rush.

Brand looked down at the toes of his new boots. "I wasn't hurt so bad. This--" and he indicated the sling, "--is just to keep me from moving it a couple of days, so it can mend. Serl's a good fellow, but he's making more of it than it was." She was still giving him the funny look, so he started speaking swiftly in his turn, backing up as he did so--"If you're doing the Captain's room, I'll put a word in his ear about giving you a tip, Liesyn. But I'm supposed to go to him now. See you later!" He turned and fled.

At the bottom of the stairs, he almost barreled into Master Thurfyn. But instead of the box on the ear he would have earned with such behavior before, the innkeeper merely steadied him with a hand to his good arm, and chided, "Not so fast, young master! A good morning to you," and sent him on his way. He went out to the courtyard, astonished by the difference a set of clothes made in how people treated you.

The Swan Knights had finished their sparring, and shirtless, were sluicing themselves down with buckets of water, the Captain among them. Brand could see the pale slashes of old scars on the skin of his torso, which was darker than those of the other knights. Andrahar wrung the water out of his striped hair, took a towel from a sergeant standing nearby with a word of thanks, and dried his face and body. Then he looked up and spied Brand, as did several of the other knights. After a quick, searching look at the boy from top to toe, the commander smiled.

"Well done, lad," he said in his deep voice. "You look most appropriate." Similar murmured compliments came from some of the other knights and Captain Peloren actually looked startled for a moment before he composed himself.

"Master Cuilast and Sergeant Berehan helped me, sir." Andrahar nodded, and the sergeant assisting him handed him a shirt, which he swiftly pulled on, and his sword belt and weapon, which he held in his hand. Looking at the sheathed sword, the boy got the feeling that the blade was an extremely valuable one, probably worth more coin than he'd ever hoped to earn in his entire life.

"And how are you feeling today?" the commander inquired, looking at Brand's sling.

"Sore, sir. It does hurt. But not that much, so long as I am careful not to move it."

"Day_ off, _Andra!" Captain Peloren chided, from where he was overseeing the recruits. Andrahar threw up a hand. "I'm going, I'm going!" He looked at the boy. "Come, lad, I need a bath and you have questions, I am sure. We can talk while I render myself presentable." Brand followed him back into the inn, where he ordered a bath from the innkeeper, and back upstairs to the room, where he laid his sword belt upon the bed, grabbed two of the chairs, turned one around, straddled it, and sat with his arms folded across the back. Brand seated himself more conventionally in the other one.

"Now, what would you like to know?" the captain asked.

"Master Cuilast said you'd paid the tanner's contract off, and given my stepfather money to apprentice me. But he said I wasn't an apprentice Swan Knight, that I was your ward. What does that mean?"

"It means that I will take care of you as a father should, see that you stay out of trouble and get the schooling you need to become a Swan Knight, if you wish, or to become something else, if you should change your mind."

"Does this mean I'll be coming with you to Dol Amroth?"

"That is correct."

"I can't ride."

"You can ride in one of the wagons. We have several, as I'm sure you noticed."

"I help my mother a lot with my brothers and sisters. I wonder what will happen to her when I am gone."

The captain arched an eyebrow. "The same thing, I would imagine, that would have happened to her had you been apprenticed to the tanner. You would not have been able to help her in any event. But if you have objections, now is the time to voice them. It is true, now that I think about it, that I did not consult you in this matter any more than your stepfather did when he apprenticed you."

Brand shook his head. "I have no right to complain, sir. You have been very kind to me, and I did not wish to go to the tanner. I had even planned to run away last night, and try to get to Dol Amroth on my own. Mother would have been alone if I had done that too, but I didn't think of that at the time--I was only worried about what would happen to me." The admission shamed him a bit, but it did not seem to disgust the captain.

"Well, _I_ am glad that matters turned out so that you were unable to run. This is a very old and wicked city, and a lad of your age could have gotten himself into a deal of trouble, either here or on the road." The door opened at that point, and the first of the maids entered to fill once more the tub they'd just emptied. Brand watched as she emptied her ewer, then left, and when she had gone, commented, "You knights sure seem to take a lot of baths."

Captain Andrahar grinned, his teeth shining whitely against his bronzed face. "Yes, we do, and you'd best get used to it. It's one of many things you will have to get used to. The Prince is very finicky about such matters." Sobering a bit, he continued. "If it makes you feel better, Brand, when you have learned your letters, you will be able to write to your mother--we do regular business in Pelargir, and someone would be able to deliver your letters fairly quickly. And you will receive a stipend every month--if you would like, you can send your mother some money."

"_REALLY?_" The boy goggled at his good fortune. To be free of Jacyn, free to chose his own destiny, _and _still be able to help his family--it was all that he could have ever asked for! "Then I thank you for your kindness again, sir, and would be happy to go with you to Dol Amroth."

"Excellent! I am glad that we have settled that! There is another matter, however, that I need your advice upon." He chuckled at Brand's curious look. "You were not the only one harmed by my stallion. Though the other boy--Serl, wasn't it?--did not suffer any physical damage, it was only by the grace of your quick thinking. How best might I recompense him for the fright he has suffered?"

The former stable boy pondered this for a moment. "Serl's sister said that his mum would not let him come back here until the warhorses were gone. And what he will do when he does, now that I won't be here to work with him and keep the bigger boys off him…." Brand's face fell as he contemplated this, but the commander of the Swan Knights said nothing, silently watching as he worked things through. "Serl's family got him a teacher to learn him his letters last winter," Brand said at last. "Serl's really smart, he is, sir, and he'd make a good clerk, or something like that. Mayhap if you gave him another winter's schooling, he'd be able to get 'prenticed or get a job with one of the merchants or counting houses. But I don't know what that costs, and it might be more than you'd want to pay."

"Oh, I daresay I have an idea of what it costs. Your plan is a good one, a fitting solution to the problem," Andrahar said, and waiting until the latest maid emptied her ewer, swiftly rose from his chair, went to where his saddlebags were laid next to the desk, reached within, and pulled forth a small, heavy metal box, which he unlocked with a key from his belt pouch. Reaching within, he withdrew a soft leather pouch, which he tossed to the boy. It chinked softly when Brand caught it.

"There you are," he said, relocking the box and tucking it away. "Why don't you run downstairs and give that to Morlan. He told me he was kin by marriage to the boy. He can be trusted, I think, to see that Serl benefits from the money."

"Should I return when I am done, sir?"

"Certainly, if you have more questions." Not sure if he should bow or not, Brand settled for nodding his head, and started downstairs for the second time that morning. This time, there were no collisions with the innkeeper, but he had to look about the courtyard and stables a bit before he found Morlan in the barn with the officer's horses, forking stalls. _Probably has to because he lost me and Serl, _the boy thought a bit guiltily, but consoled himself with the fact that he was about to make Serl very happy, and therefore probably Morlan as well.

"Master Morlan?" he said, and Morlan turned, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in Brand's improved appearance.

"Valar, Brand-lad, you look like a little lord! I heard what the captain did. It certainly looks as if he intends to do right by you."

"He intends to do right by Serl, too. Told me to give this to you for him, since he could have been hurt by the horse, and got so frightened. It's for his schooling." He handed the pouch to the hostler. Morlan smiled.

"That was right decent of him." He opened the pouch, peered within, and gasped. At Brand's quizzical look, he asked, "Did he show you what was in here?"

"No, Master Morlan. Is there enough for Serl to go to school this winter?"

"There's enough that Serl can go to school right now, and stay there, lad! Did you put him up to this?"

Startled at the news, Brand stammered a bit. "Not exactly. He asked me how he should make it up to Serl. I told him about Serl's lessons, and that he would really like some more, is all."

The hostler looked down at the boy. "Well, tell him that Serl and his family thank him very much. I'll tell him later myself, when I get the chance. And Brand--see that you study hard, and do as he says. This looks to be a great chance for you--don't get willful on the man as you used to do with Jacyn."

"No, Master Morlan. I wouldn't dream of it!" The hostler returned to his work, and sensing dismissal, the boy returned to the inn, making his way back upstairs. There he found that the maids had finished filling the bath, and the captain was bathing. He had moved the screen from around the chair to around the bathtub, but Brand could hear the splashing and sloshing, though they fell silent for a moment upon his entrance.

"Is that you lad?"

"Yes, Captain." The splashing resumed. The boy noticed that the sword belt was no longer on the bed, but hung instead off the corner of the screen, within arm's reach.

"Very well then. Did you give the hostler the money?"

"Yes sir, and he says that Serl and his family are much obliged, and that he will thank you later himself."

"The hostler seems a good man."

"He was always a good master to me, sir."

"Do you have any more questions about what you're going to be doing at Dol Amroth?"

"What do I have to learn to become a Swan Knight? Besides the battle stuff?"

There was a chuckle from the bath. "'Battle-stuff' is it? You have to be able to read and write in at least two languages, and do sums. And you need to learn two skills."

"What sort of skills?" Brand asked, his mind boggling.

"Well, that depends upon you. Courtly skills count--singing, dancing, scribe-work, things like that. Some Knights choose to learn a bit of leech craft, so as to help their brothers in the field. Lord Liahan did that."

"Am I going to have _time _to learn all those things?"

"I think so, though you will have to study very hard. The Prince from time to time will promote a promising man-at-arms from the foot to esquire, and they are often just like you, with no lettering at all. Some of them have won white belts, and you have four more years than they do to learn."

Brand sighed in relief. "When do I start learning to ride? Sergeant Berehan said I didn't have the right boots for it."

"When you get to Dol Amroth. I don't want you riding until your side is healed. When we get home, I'll find you a good saddle horse to learn on."

The boy blinked. "I get a horse of my own?"

"Well, _I _certainly don't need a saddle horse!"

"But you need another war horse, thanks to me," Brand pointed out, suddenly depressed. "Are you going to ride in the wagons on the way home?"

"No. Did you not notice the extra horses when we arrived? We always travel with a few, in case a mount should go lame, or some other mishap occur. I have a back-up mount with me, and I'll ride him. And we always have young warhorses in training at Dol Amroth. There's a young stallion there I've had my eye on the last year or so. I'll take him up and finish him as my new second horse." The splashing ceased and there was a sound of movement, as the Captain rose from his bath to begin drying and dressing himself. "You may find that having a horse is not so wonderful a thing as you think, Brand, for I shall expect you to care for him yourself."

The boy snorted. "Mucking one stall instead of a barn full? I'll be all right, sir." Another chuckle, somewhat muffled.

"Of course! I hadn't thought about it in that way, but you're right. One horse for a former stable lad is no great problem. I must say, I think I'll prefer teaching you to some of the spoiled lordlings we get, who've been riding since they were small, but never yet cleaned a stall or brushed a horse. And are offended at the idea that they should. But a Swan Knight always takes care of his horses himself."

"Even the Prince, sir?" Brand asked, intrigued.

"Yes, even the Prince. With his own two hands. And he has a perfectly magnificent warhorse who loves to roll in the mud. He's always having to curry caked mud off of him, and oh, does he curse while he's doing it!"

Brand tried to wrap his mind around the idea of the richest man in Gondor currying his own warhorse, and found that he simply couldn't imagine it. Andrahar stepped out from behind the screen in a shirt and breeches, toweling his hair dry.

"Any other questions?"

"Where will I live when I get to Dol Amroth? With you?"

"That is something that I am still thinking about. I have a house of my own, and there's a room there that would serve for you. But I would have to get a woman in full time to keep an eye on things, and cook for you. My duties keep me away for much of the day, and sometimes the night, and it might not be the best thing for you. Or you could live at the palace. I shall think about that on the ride home. Anything else?"

Brand looked at his benefactor, who certainly did not seem particularly dangerous with his hair snaking wet over his shoulders, and his shirt hanging loose. He thought about all the man had done for him so far--rescuing him from the tanner, enabling him to send home money to his mother, fixing things so that Serl could go to school, and he would not have to worry about what happened to him once he was gone. There was a need in him to express his gratitude, and a hunger in him for the man's good regard, but Jacyn had been all too thorough in his teaching that a father's affection was not something he merited. So he merely shook his head mutely.

The captain, for his part, seemed a bit hesitant as well. He started to reach a hand out to the boy, then seemed to change his mind, and after a moment, let it drop.

"We'd best hurry up, for they'll be serving lunch soon, and you wouldn't want to miss that."

"But I just finished breakfast!" Captain Andrahar laughed.

"I've never yet seen the boy that mattered a fig to! I suspect you'll do the meal justice! Come, give me a hand with these boots!"


	5. Hopes and Fears

As Captain Andrahar had predicted, Brand was able to do justice to his lunch despite his late breakfast. He sat at the officer's table with his new guardian, and received more compliments on his improved appearance, which he accepted with cast down eyes and murmured thanks. Other than that, he said next to nothing, which simultaneously pleased and worried the commander. He was pleased, for Andrahar disliked children, or adults for that matter, who chattered when they had nothing important to say; and worried, for Imrahil's children had always been far more talkative than Brand was being.

__

The boy misses his mother and siblings, it is not to be wondered at that he should be silent, the captain told himself. _I must find something for him to do this afternoon until his mother arrives._ But the healer was ahead of Andrahar in that matter--as lunch ended, Cuilast commandeered the boy to help him inventory his medicinal herbs, and declared that they would see how well Brand knew his letters while they were about it. He winked at Andrahar as they departed and the captain was left, as he often was, torn between offense at the healer's cheek and admiration of his competence.

Left with time on his hands, Andrahar invoked a privilege of his that he rarely used, and set an esquire who had displeased him the day before to cleaning his tack, and grooming the remount he was riding. Not knowing exactly when Jacyn would arrive, and berating himself for not having made a more definite appointment, he thought that it might be nice to try out the bed he'd given to Brand the night before, and take a nap. So he told a pleasantly surprised Peloren he was not to be disturbed until the carter arrived, went back upstairs, chased the little chambermaid out of the room with a coin for her troubles, and shut the door. Boots, tunic and swordbelt done off, his sword close to his hand, he was asleep, old campaigner that he was, but moments after his head sank into the pillow.

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A maid knocked on the door mid-afternoon, to announce the arrival of Master Jacyn and his wife. Andrahar ordered them ushered into the private parlor and offered refreshments, while he swiftly set himself to rights. Upon his arrival downstairs, he found the parlor filled with small children who were all clinging to their older half-brother, and expressing their grief over his departure. The carter sat gingerly in one of the stuffed chairs, as if he feared it would break beneath his weight, and his wife perched stiffly in another, obviously very nervous.

"Brand, why do you not take your brothers and sisters outside?" the captain suggested. "You can show them our wagon teams if you like, but keep them away from the warhorses."

"Yes, sir," Brand replied obediently, and shepherded the children out of the room, making a heroic effort to answer many questions at once. When they had gone, and the door closed behind them, things became much more quiet. Andrahar crossed the room to the carter, and presented him with three gold pieces.

"As I promised, master carter, and my thanks to you." Jacyn accepted the money, and tucked it slowly away in his belt pouch, as his wife watched silently.

"Have you any questions about our agreement, Master Jacyn?" the captain asked, wondering if the carter would at this late date express any sort of concern for the boy he had raised for the last ten years.

"Nay, my lord, you've been very generous, both to us and to the boy, obviously. He seems to be minding you well enough now, but don't fear to give him a taste of the strap if he gets smart."

"I'll bear that in mind," Andrahar said pleasantly, while curbing an impulse to smash the man in the face, or take a strap to him and see how he liked it. "Master Jacyn, I need to speak to your wife in private for a time. Why don't you avail yourself of the very good ale in this inn, at my expense? We shall not be long, I promise." Bridling slightly at being dismissed so cavalierly, but also obviously not wanting to offend his source of gold coinage, Jacyn stumped out of the room, closing the door behind him with more force than was strictly necessary. His wife started when he did so, then lifted her chin and looked directly at Andrahar.

The remnants of her beauty were still plain upon her face, and the captain could well believe that she might have been a lady of pleasure in a fine house, and that Boromir might have been attracted to her. He inclined his head politely.

"Mistress, I am Captain Andrahar, commander of the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth. Your husband did not tell me your name."

"I am called Nellith, my lord captain."

"Mistress Nellith, you no doubt have questions you wish to ask me, even if your husband does not. And I have some I wish to ask you. Now is the time that we should both do that. As the lady here, you may go first."

"What are your intentions towards my son, sir?" her voice quavered slightly, but was otherwise firm enough.

"I intend to see that your son is educated, and that he has the opportunity to either learn a trade of his choosing, or become a soldier, if that is still his wish, when he is old enough."

"And is that your sole intention, my lord?"

"You will have to speak more plainly, mistress, if I am to answer you," Andrahar said, though he suspected he knew what she was getting at, and was curious to see if she would actually risk angering a lord by suggesting it.

Nellith swallowed hard, but did not hesitate. "You have a Southron look to you, my lord. I spent enough time in a house to know that some of your folk have a taste for young boys. My Brand is a comely lad, and just now come to the age that some folk prefer for that sort of thing."

__

She does not lack for courage, this lady, thought Andrahar bemusedly. There were stout warriors and influential courtiers who would have never dreamed of confronting him as Nellith just had. _And she obviously loves her son. I wonder why she permits the carter to hit him? Not that she could truly do much to stop Jacyn, large as he is. Perhaps she simply has to choose her battles…_

"I do not bed boys, madam," he replied without heat. "I am the Prince of Dol Amroth's sworn brother, and helped to train all of his sons in the way of arms from a very early age, as well as most of the noble lads of Belfalas and Anfalas. He trusted me with his children, you may trust me with your boy."

"But why do you want my boy?"

"There are several reasons, some of which did not become apparent until after I had bargained with your husband. The boy has courage, and compassion, and intelligence. He saved his friend from possible injury or even death, did you know that?" Nellith shook her head, her eyes widening slightly. "He very obviously did not want to become a tanner, and I thought him ill-suited to the trade. And most importantly, madam, I did not care for the way your husband treated him."

Nellith bowed her head. "Jacyn does not love him, 'tis true, but then it is a lot to ask of a man to love the by-blow of another man," she murmured. "He has always fed and clothed him, at least."

"At the very least." The woman's head shot back up at that.

"You have no right to judge me, my lord!"

"I am not judging you, mistress. I know only too well the sorts of choices less fortunate folk must make to survive. I did not always enjoy the position of prominence that is my lot today." Deciding that he would be less intimidating if he stopped looming over the poor woman, Andrahar seated himself, and availed himself of the tea that was set out on the small table between the chairs. He poured a cup for Nellith as well, which she took after a moment. "I shall see that the lad corresponds with you on a regular basis, once he learns to write. And I will give you the address of the Prince's man of business here in Pelargir, should you need to contact the boy, or have some difficulty of your own. You are his mother, and I will see that he does not forget, even if he is Boromir of Gondor's son."

Brand's mother blanched, and the cup trembled slightly in her hand. "My lord, I do not know what Brand told you, but I have never claimed that he was fathered by any one particular man! I have often thought that the Captain-General might be his father--he was the only one who had truly black hair--but there were actually at least five men who could have been, and I have always told him that."

"So he says. But you only kept a token from one of them."

"It was only by chance that I had it! Lord Boromir had sent his clothes out to be laundered while we dallied. It was a popular service of the house. They were returned in a timely manner, but the handkerchief must have fallen upon the floor, for I found it after he had gone, and it was too late to return it. Surely, I thought, a lord of his status had many such, so it was of no import that I should keep it. He was so famous that I wanted a keepsake of our time together. And that was the reason I had the token from him, my lord, not because I was sure that he was Brand's father.

Andrahar set his cup down. "Lord Boromir _was_ Brand's father, Mistress Nellith, unless you slept with one of the younger Princes of Dol Amroth as well." Nellith shook her head, her eyes puzzled. "The Captain-General was of the royal house of Dol Amroth upon his mother's side, and there is a trait common to the royal house that shows up from time to time in its members. I know of it because of my long service to the Prince's family. Brand exhibited that trait last night. I thought at first that the Prince's son Prince Elphir might have sired him, but then he showed me the handkerchief, and I knew that he was Boromir's boy. He also looks remarkably like Boromir at that age, as I should have cause to know, for I knew Boromir when he was Brand's age."

"You are certain of this, my lord?"

"As certain as I can be, without further confirmation from you. Which brings me to my first question. I would like you to tell me about your evening with Lord Boromir."

Nellith bent her head, studying the tea in her cup for a moment, then raised it again. "It was about ten days before _mettarë . _I was a new girl, and had only had a couple of customers before him."

"Which house was this, mistress?"

"The Drunkard's Dream, my lord. Are you familiar with it?"

"I know of it, yes. The Prince was a patron long ago, before his marriage." Andrahar paused to sip his tea, and Nellith did as well. The action seemed to hearten her.

"I was very excited to have been chosen by him," she said at last, "but the evening was not at all what I had hoped. He did not strike me or abuse me in any way, but he was a very large, strong man, and held nothing back in his taking of me. I ended the evening quite bruised, and he seemed to feel badly about that, for he gave me a very large tip, and told me to make the madam give me a few days off. I think perhaps he spoke to her as well, for she actually did so."

"Did he say where he was going, or why?"

"He did not really want to speak to me much at all, but when I asked him that very question, before we….began….he said that he was going to spend _mettarë _in Dol Amroth with his mother's kin, and that he had an old friend he wanted to look up."

Andrahar set his cup down on the table, and sat back in his chair, taking a deep breath to cover the pain of the sudden stab of grief. _How ironic! She was the last woman he had, before he came to me the first time. For once he had come to me, there was no one else for either of us…_Memory flared, of a chill dark room with a fresh-lit fire flaming upon the hearth, the light flickering upon Boromir's face as he looked at Andrahar with troubled eyes. "…_I have come to believe that it is possible I might be a lover of men."_

Andrahar closed his eyes, and took several more calming breaths. _He is gone, but you are still here, and so is the boy. Attend to business!_

Nellith was staring at him worriedly when he looked at her once more. "Are you well, my lord captain?"

"Indeed, madam. I am sorry if I startled you. It is simply that your tale very much confirms my theory."

"Oh." She did not look particularly reassured.

"So, what happened after that? I always understood that ladies in that profession took various sorts of simples to prevent children."

"Indeed they do, my lord, and indeed I did. But none of them are foolproof. There are also simples for ending the child when it has begun, and the madam gave me such when it became apparent I was breeding. But that did not work either, and I would not try a second time when she suggested it, for it seemed to me an omen that the child was meant to be." A chill ran through Andrahar at how narrowly Boromir's boy had escaped non-existence. "The madam was kind to me, saying that she understood, and she let me work until I became too ungainly to do so, giving me several wealthy clients. I was very careful to save my wages and their tips, and when I finally had to leave the house, I returned to my parents' farm."

"They accepted you back?"

"Oh yes, for we had all of us set upon this plan when father became behind in his taxes. I had saved our farm, and I came home with a full purse for them and enough left over to dowry me respectably as well, so they were glad to have me. Brand was born there, and when he was two years old, Jacyn offered for me. And that is all there is to the story."

Andrahar nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you for answering me so fully, mistress."

"What do we do now?" Nellith asked hesitantly. "Jacyn and the tanner wrote a contract between them--should we do the same?"

"It is not necessary, but should it reassure you to have one, I can summon the Prince's man of business here and have one drawn up." She bit her lip.

"I do not know…I just wish to make certain that you will take good care of my boy. Are you married, Captain? Do you have any children?"

"No to both questions, mistress."

"Why not?" The commander stared at her for a moment, considering what he should say. Not the whole truth, obviously….

"My service to the Prince kept me too busy for many years to consider such things, and I am too old to start a family now," he replied at last. "And as I am baseborn myself, I felt no particular pressure to produce an heir."

Nellith blinked a bit at that revelation. "You've dressed Brand well, and for that I thank you, but there is more to raising a child than that. How can I be sure that I am doing the right thing?"

"I have no children of my own, but I helped Prince Imrahil rear his family after the death of his wife," Andrahar said patiently. "He has three sons and a daughter, and I believe they were not unhappy with my guidance when they were growing up. This is a great opportunity for Brand. How can you deny him? In any event, what would you tell your husband when the boy came back home with you? Mistress Nellith, your husband reared Brand for ten years, and never gave him a father's love. How could I possibly be any worse than that? And I can guarantee you he will be happier with me than with the tanner." He fastened his dark eyes upon the woman.

"I took the boy before I knew that he was Boromir's son, because I liked his spirit, and I would have done the best I could by him simply for that. And madam, after over three decades of training young men to be Swan Knights, my best is very good indeed. Lord Boromir was my dearest friend, and for fifty years, I have served and protected the Princes of Dol Amroth. For both of those reasons, as well as his own fine qualities, Brand would merit my protection. I would die to keep him from harm, Mistress Nellith." He shrugged, with that boneless grace of expression peculiar to the Haradrim. "If that is not enough to convince you, then I do not know what is."

Nellith gave him a long, considering look, then a nod. "Very well, captain, I believe you. Will you tell the Prince about Brand's parentage?"

"Not immediately. The Prince is not intending to return to Dol Amroth for some time, as the King needs him in Minas Tirith. When he comes home, I will tell him. And I will not lie to you--Brand is going to have a lot of new things to become accustomed to. So I am going to withhold that information from him as well, until he becomes comfortable in his new home. But when the time is right, there are many folk there who will be able to tell him about his father, and what sort of man he was." Andrahar sighed, and swallowed hard. "He came so close to knowing him himself! Boromir fell but eight months ago. I think he would have been pleased to discover he had such a fine son." This grief, the captain knew, would never leave him. _If he had known, he might have left the journey to Imladris to Faramir, who has no children. He might have stayed, for Brand's sake…_

There was a long moment of silence, as the captain struggled to suppress his memories and Nellith to absorb all that he had told her.

"Lord Boromir will never know Brand, 'tis true," Brand's mother said softly at last. "But Brand will know his father's greatest friend." Andrahar looked at her and wondered what she saw in his face, for her eyes were suddenly very kind. "And I think that will serve well enough."

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Brand, who had pretty much exhausted any safe means of entertaining his siblings, was very glad to be summoned back to the inn. There he found his stepfather, mellowed by a couple of tankards of very good ale, and his mother, calmer than she had been upon her arrival and with the air of someone who had resolved something to her satisfaction. The captain seemed somewhat withdrawn, but civil.

"Captain Andrahar has been very kind about explaining things to me, Brand," Nellith said, folding him suddenly into a fierce embrace. "I think that this is a very good chance for you, and I want you to promise me that you will mind him and work hard."

"I will, Mother," he promised, burying his face in her neck to hide the tears that suddenly welled up in his eyes. "And as soon as I learn how, I'll write to you, tell you all about what it is like there." He kissed her cheek, and stepped back, blinking.

"That will be near as good as a minstrel show, I am sure," she said, falsely hearty. "Gaelbereth, Jacyn, Faelyn, Baran, say good-bye to your brother." An uproar followed Nellith's command. The oldest girl, Gaelbereth, was the only one who remained calm. Brand's brother Jacyn, a six-year-old of similar temperament to his father, promptly erupted into a veritable storm of tears, which proved contagious to the two younger ones, who had little true idea of what was going on, but decided they had better cry just in case.

"You have to look after the little ones now, Gabby," Brand told his sister, who nodded solemnly.

"Are you going to get your own horse to ride?" she asked. He nodded. "Will you bring it so I can see it?"

Brand smiled. "When I can. It may be a while, though." She held up her arms to him, and he stooped down to hug and kiss her, then did the same to the rest of his siblings in their turn. That comforted them, and the crying abated somewhat. Gabby, good as her word, turned her attention to soothing the two youngest children, while the carter swung his namesake up onto his hip.

"You've had a rare bit of luck and no mistake," he growled at Brand. "See that you don't mess up and have to come back here."

And in that moment, any lingering doubts Andrahar might have had about Brand's parentage were laid to rest, for the boy looked up at the man who so carefully cradled his own blood while having denied Brand any affection, and his eyebrow and lip curled up in impudent defiance. Suddenly, eerily, it was young Boromir standing there.

"You needn't worry," he told the carter with studied insolence, "I shan't be back save to visit my mother and sisters and brothers…..sir." Then he moved deliberately to Andrahar's side.

Jacyn visibly twitched, as the impulse to smack the boy for his cheek warred with his instinct for self preservation, and Andrahar watched the boy watch him do it. A tiny, warm feeling burgeoned beneath the captain's breastbone, and after a moment, he realized to his surprise that it was joy. Neither victory upon the Pelennor nor Sauron's destruction at the Black Gate had served to lift the black pall the captain had been under since learning of Boromir's death, nor had the coronation and wedding of the king, or the flowering of the White Tree. Speaking to those who had been with Boromir in his last moments had satisfied his desperate need to know how his lover had died, but had not lightened his heart. Now, watching a scrawny, black-haired boy give a carter lip in an inn parlor, his heart finally thawed and he knew hope again at last.

"Come, Nellith," Jacyn said. "Not being fine folk, we have work to do." He stomped out of the room, little Jacyn still on his hip, while his wife shepherded the others before her. She paused beside Andrahar before she left.

"His full name is Brandmir, Captain," she murmured. Andrahar looked down at the boy, who was looking up at him.

"Of course it is," he said, with a smile that very few people had ever seen.

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The captain and Brand followed the boy's family out onto the porch, watching as they piled into the cart and Jacyn took up the reins. Nellith was trying very hard to control her own tears, and feeling a bit of shame at the sense of relief that had come over her. Intervening between Brand and Jacyn over the years had taken its toll upon her, and she suspected that her husband would be much more pleasant to live with now that the boy had been removed. She had known that the apprenticeship to the tanner was not what Brand had wanted, but there had been no way to give him his heart's desire, so she had settled for getting him out of her husband's reach.

An eaglet in a sparrow's nest, Brand had seemed to her at times, with wishes and dreams that she could not understand or fulfill. Looking back now, as she waved goodbye, she saw the man's hand drop gently onto Brand's shoulder. Her son started in surprise, looking up at the commander, who bent his head and smiled. Brand hesitantly leaned in closer, and Andrahar's arm slid down about his shoulders and squeezed. The two of them looked right together somehow, confirmation of the feeling she had often had about her misbegotten son, that someday the circumstances of his birth would cause him to be taken from her.

I would die to keep him from harm, Mistress Nellith.

Nellith could only hope that that would never become necessary.


	6. Epilogue

"Will he be all right, Cuilast?"

"I can't think why he wouldn't be, Captain. I took the stitches out last night."

Captain Andrahar's new war horse was trotting obediently beside the wagon seat where Brand perched.

"Would you like to ride, lad?" Brand grinned gleefully.

"YES, sir!" And he halfway stood, grasped the arm the captain extended back behind him, and slid onto the horse behind his guardian.

"Hold tight," Andrahar told him, a bit unnecessarily, for the boy was already sliding his arms about the commander's waist, feeling the rigidity of mail and padding beneath the velvet tabard. "Are you settled?" the Swan Knight asked after a moment.

"Yes, sir." The captain reined the horse away from the wagon and onto the grassy verge of the road.

"Would you like to go faster?"

"Oh, yes!" Andrahar chuckled at his enthusiasm, and put the stallion into a slow canter. They rode up the side of the column of horsemen, and Brand whooped. The horse flattened its ears slightly at that, and quickened its pace. The boy looked at the Swan Knights as they passed, and saw many of them grinning back at him, but only after the captain passed, that Andrahar might not see.

The Captain's lad, they called him, meaning nothing but good by it. "For we are all the Captain's lads, to some extent," Lord Liahan had said in his quiet way. Liahan himself had been sent to foster at Dol Amroth when he was eight, and regarded Andrahar as something of a surrogate father, though he had a perfectly good relationship with his own family.

Captain's lad or not, however, Brand had been kept busy at the books since they had departed Pelargir. Serl had come with his mother and father to say good-bye to him that last morning, and to thank Captain Andrahar for Serl's schooling, which thanks the commander had acknowledged with grave courtesy. "You can write to Serl as well, you know," Andrahar had told his ward, and both boys found this idea most pleasing, and something of a consolation for the fact that they must part.

However, the actual act of learning to read was more difficult than Brand had anticipated. Cuilast gave him lessons in the covered hospital wagon every day, and the captain asked for frequent displays of his knowledge. So long as it was apparent that Brand was applying himself, Andrahar was satisfied, even if it seemed that the boy was not making swift progress, but woe betide him if Cuilast reported that he was shirking! He had only done that once, and the quiet, scathing talking-to he'd received had been far worse than any beating Jacyn had ever administered. _Never again,_ he'd sworn to himself after that, and since that time had given Andrahar no cause to reprimand him.

Already possessed of a strong work ethic, he had offered to help with the wagon teams, but as the captain was adamant that he do nothing which would pull the stitches out of his healing injury, his options were somewhat limited. But he could curry with his uninjured hand, and helped when they cleaned the harness in the evening, for that he could do with the pieces lying on a table before him. Swan Knights, as he had already noted, spent a great deal of time cleaning and polishing things, and they traveled for six days and rested on the seventh. Or rather, traveled for six days, found a source of water on the seventh and did incredible amounts of laundry!

Everything was tidied up on that seventh day, and between that and the daily sorts of cleaning that went on, Brand began to understand how they looked always looked so fine. He found himself subject to sudden cleanliness inspections himself. At any time, his nails or hair or teeth or the area behind his ears might come under scrutiny. He quickly became accustomed to the necessity of thorough daily bathing, in order to avoid uncomfortable encounters with a scrub brush. And to the luxury of having clean clothes to wear every single day.

Cuilast had told him that Captain Andrahar was not an overly friendly fellow, and that was certainly true, but as the days passed, he found little to fault about his new guardian. Andrahar was not often with him during the day--he and Peloren were taking turns supervising the new recruits--but he checked on the boy from time to time, and there was always a place beside him for Brand at the campfire at night. Brand enjoyed those times the best, for the Knights would talk about their recent exploits in Minas Tirith and at the Black Gate. That war was not glorious, even in such glorious company, was something that quickly became apparent to the boy as he listened to the seasoned warriors talk. And he began to understand the truth of what his mother had told him, and a little bit of what he was letting himself in for, should he choose this path. A goodly number of those extra horses were available because their masters were dead.

The captain would let him listen until he started yawning and getting heavy-eyed, and then would send him off to the tent they shared; but one night, when he was tired but wanted to hear the end of a story, Andrahar simply pulled him against his shoulder, draped his cloak about him and let him rest there till the tale's end. And when, halfway to Dol Amroth, Brand had the wave dream again, he awoke not to Jacyn's cursing and cuffing, but rather to a soothing voice and a bit of something to eat and drink. That had served to send him swiftly back to a dreamless rest, and he found it a vast improvement upon his former circumstances.

No, Brand had no complaints, and now, sitting behind the captain upon his stallion, he realized that he was happy, despite missing his mother and his siblings, and despite not being entirely sure of what awaited him in Dol Amroth. The Swan Knights and the sergeants had tried to describe the city to him-- the Pearl of Belfalas, the seat of Prince Imrahil the Fair--but it sounded more fable than fact.

"Faster, lad?" Andrahar called over his shoulder.

"Please!" came the reply and the captain urged his stallion into a gallop. Brand gripped him more tightly, and laughed. They swept past the van of the column, and thundered up a long, gradual slope. Reaching the top and starting down the other side, Andrahar slowed the horse till he danced restlessly in place beneath them. Brand, peering around his back, could see down the hill and over the lands below, to the expanse of the Sea stretching to the horizon. A breeze from the west brought the scent of it to him for the first time, and the cries of gulls flying inland. There was a hill by the bay, and on the hill was a white city, shimmering in the afternoon light. Upon the summit was a castle whose towers seemed to the boy to touch the sky.

"Is that Dol Amroth?"

"Yes, lad, that's home."

Brand was not so certain of that yet, but when the company reached the city gates a couple of hours later, there were many folk upon the walls calling a joyful welcome to their Swan Knights come home from the war. The Swan Knights entered their city singing, as they always did, and Brand was singing with them.


End file.
